#I love how it biotically flips her

[swaps55]

Sorry, long post but I just needed to get what’s in my head shared with someone out there with a couple hidden questions in there:

So my head canon Shep has a lot of similarities to Sam despite the very different backgrounds. At the end of ME3, Jon Shep struts (as much as possible) determinedly towards Destroy.. Then as StarChild asks Shep if they would consider any other option Shep flips off the AI while sternly stating “I was promised cuddles and I’m cashing in on no matter what”.

So, would Kaidan’s “I’ll fight like hell to hold you again” reinvigorate/encourage/help Sam to see it through to the end? 

Also, thank you for the WIP-Whenever link (I still can’t find it in your posts, yes, I am most helpless) and I keep imagining how they end up there.  I headcanon Grimson Academy taking place right after the Coup and on the shuttle ride back to the Normandy, Kaidan feels out of place and unqualified to be around the crew having fun so he goes and sits up with Steve and sees if there’s anything he can help with even if its just to chat a bit.  Shepard at first thinks Kaidan is very tired (recently healed, lots of biotics used, Jack is a bit loud and overwhelming…)  Then the mission with Jacob.  Once again on the way back to the Normandy as Jacob and Shepard reminisce, Kaidan goes up front with Steve.  Shepard starts to wonder if Kaidan just wants nothing to do with anything Cerberus and is pained as he just wants to share the good parts of his time spent away and mistakenly doesn’t see that Kaidan is just guilt ridden.

Then the mission to check on the Araklah Company and saving Grunt.  Garrus, knowing what Kaidan is about to do, goes and sits in the copilot seat first while telling Kaidan he’s exhausted and needs to sit and shoos him away back to Shepard.  Shepard is beamingly happy introducing the two and talking about birthing Grunt and some of his crazy stunts during the Collector mission.

Cut to the Ardat Yakshi monastery.  Kaidan takes more interest in Samara and interacts with her.  However, due to the banshees screams, Kaidan’s head wants to go migraine mode but isn’t fully one. The crew is having some sort of party in the lounge so there’s more noise.  Shepard carries Kaidan from the Starboard Ob’s couch and basically cradles Kaidan.  Chakwas comes to check to see if Kaidan needs anything.  As the door opens and light pours through, Kaidan buries his head deeper into Shepard’s arm.  Chakwas asks if everything is okay and Shepard just looks down at Kaidan, smiles, and says ‘yeah. Yeah, everything is going to be okay.’

Cue Kaidan waking up and your WIP-Whenever occurring.  Kaidan has that Fugue dream of Shepard and trying to hold him as he wakes up.  This time it works.  The part that died along Shepard comes back to life and some of the colder/harsher side of Kaidan leaves. (basically like how Sam has a Sam side vs butcher side Kaidan has a Kaidan side and Major personality).

Throughout this Kaidan talks to Steve and kinda uses him as therapy as both lost their significant other to Collectors.  So my question is do you think you’d poke at Kaidan/Steve interactions? How would Steve react if his husband came back and work for the enemy? Can Steve help Kaidan heal? Does Kaidan still need to heal?  Furthermore, I can’t decide if Shepard would feel jealousy towards Steve? Would Sam think Kaidan is trying to romance Steve or is that just adding unnecessary drama just for the sake of adding angst.  I can’t decide what my Jon would do so I’m curious what would go on inside Sam’s head.

This reads a bit like a fic but I’d never make it one as it steals way too much from Sam and I’m simply not  a writer but would like feedback so I can mentally play with scenarios.

Also, while many are eagerly awaiting Horizon, I can't wait for Mars as Sam has to watch his nightmares unfold right in front of him (and Liara too tbh).

Oh gosh, I LOVE this ask. Thank you!

If you want to know what the thought process has been as to ‘how do Sam and Kaidan reconcile, actually?’ this is kind of what it looks like. Throwing a lot of spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks.

First, the ending. I have spent 12 years now hating the ME3 ‘endings’ with every fiber of my being. I will quite literally die mad about it. But I’ve spent those 12 years trying to envision an ending I would feel good about, that would give me closure, and do justice to the characters I love so much. I finally got there, and I am beside myself over it. While I intend to keep most of the same emotional beats from the game, they will probably unfold a little differently.

That said, Sam will see it through to the end because he’s Sam, and he’s ruthless by nature. The solution is all that matters. Once his course is set, you won’t deviate him from it. But when he said, “if it comes down to a choice between you and the galaxy, fuck the galaxy. I choose you,” he meant it, so that course won’t be without conflict.

As for the reconciliation, (which is referring to this snippet for those who are curious), I thought about a LOT of things that could be the catalyst for it and had a heck of a time getting to one that felt right, for reasons which tie into the dissertation I wrote on that snippet.

The catalyst being Steve Cortez is something I absolutely thought about, and almost went with.  I can definitely  see Kaidan and Steve doing a little bonding over grief, and Steve gently but firmly asking him, “Kaidan…what are you doing? He’s right there. No one gets a second chance like this. No one.”

And as for Sam being jealous, I actually think Sam would be the one to suggest Kaidan get to know Steve. Kaidan needs to talk to someone. He can’t talk to Sam. Steve is the right choice. Sam can have jealous moments, but he isn’t really the jealous type.

Missions like Lesuss (the ardat-yakshi monastery) will probably play into the tension between them. I wrote a story years ago about that mission, and while it isn’t part of Opus, my toxic trait is loosely considering nearly every fic I’ve written to be my own ‘canon’ in some way (I’ve referenced many, many, many things that happen in Exordium, my ME1 long fic, in Opus).  

I also thought Kaidan learning about his dad going missing might be the tipping point. I even did some writing for it, but as I talk about in that dissertation, it was too focused on Kaidan’s needs, and not focused enough on Sam’s.

I won’t spoil what it is actually going to be, yet anyway, but it involves them doing what they do best: understanding and being there for each other. I can’t wait. I haven’t written it down, but I have daydreamed about it in such detail it’s etched in stone.

[timptoe]

Six Words for Shepard

Hi @all-truths-wait-in-all-things, I'm your Harbinger of holiday cheer for @masseffectholidaycheer! You said you wanted something fluffy about Jack and your Shepard, so I took the six descriptive words you gave me and wrote a sestina about Marin. And then I wrote a bunch more words about Jack writing the sestina, including teaching a toddler to say "fuck." The world is dark and cold, so I hope this silliness brings you a bit of warmth.

Read it on AO3.

----

C-Sec Holding Cell, Presidium Commons, Citadel Fifteen days before the end of the Reaper War

In retrospect, it’s all Miranda Lawson’s fault, really.

Jack blows out a breath as she leans against the wall of the C-Sec holding cell. She’s seen worse. The three-meter square room is fucking spacious compared to some of the other jails she’s been in. And clean, too. Immaculate. Not even any blood on the walls. Is it really a jail if there’s no blood on the walls?

She touches the forcefield over the doorway, which sparks at the contact. Yeah, still a jail.

Really, if Miranda hadn’t put her nose where it didn’t belong— But that’s what she does best, isn’t it? Puts her fucking nose in other people’s fucking business because she’s always got the fucking best ideas. 

Shoulda flipped the table over the moment she sat down.

Jack sighs, a particular voice in the back of her head whispering, That’s not fair.

She loves that voice. Hates what a goody-two-shoes it’s made her, but…loves it all the same. Which is why she even deigned to talk to Miranda in the first place. Why she was even able to without throwing her off the balcony and straight into the Presidium’s pool.

Because of Marin fucking Shepard.

A year ago, Jack’s conversation with Miranda would have ended with a detonation of biotic energy in the former Cerberus operative’s face. But Jack’s apparently mellowed in her old age. Shepard would say she’s “learned restraint,” with that fucking mischievous twinkle in her eye that makes Jack’s toes curl, but Jack knows what it really means: she’s gotten soft. Hell, the topic of her and Miranda’s conversation itself proves how soft she’s gotten. How soft Shepard’s made her. 

So maybe Jack likes a little softness now, fuck you. She’s still a badass where it counts. And as long as Shepard never finds out about any of this, she can still hold her head high the next time she sees her, pretend she’s not some gooey, emotional, doe-eyed…

Ah, fucking hell. I am, aren’t I?

Jack sighs again, looking around the small holding cell, putting her head in her hands. She should’ve just left the moment Miranda sat down.

—— Café Majestique, Presidium, Citadel Ten hours before the present

She slams the pad down on the table with a mighty “FUCK!”

The crash of the pad echoes around the café in the brief silence that follows. She glances around at all of the patrons who are decidedly not looking at her, making eye contact with the one salarian who is. “What the fuck are you looking at?” she growls.

He beelines it for the exit.

Jack pinches the bridge of her nose and glares down at the pad where it rests on the table. What a fucking joke, she thinks. A war for survival raging across the galaxy, her own students facing Reaper-mutated soldiers every day now, fucking Cerberus ascending, and this is the thing that finally breaks her?

I’m the fucking joke.

“Glad to see you’re just as stable as ever, Jack,” comes a lightly-accented voice behind her. 

She tenses more at the accent than at the unexpected interruption it brings. Of all the people in the universe, she would rather have Harbinger himself sit down in the chair across the table instead of the woman who does. Shoulder-length dark hair, skintight white bodysuit, enigmatic quirk to her lips.

Of course it would be Miranda Lawson right now.

“Cheerleader,” Jack sighs, “what a pleasant fucking surprise.”

Miranda pops an eyebrow. “That’s a downright cheery welcome coming from you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m real fucking dandy. Is there something I can help you with?” Jack asks through gritted teeth.

“Not really, just ducked in here for a moment and saw a familiar face, thought we could catch up,” Miranda replies, smiling wide. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, which flicker to look behind Jack’s left shoulder, then off to her right, before landing back on Jack herself.

Jack leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Cerberus?”

Miranda nods once.

Jack considers her options. On the one hand, she could get up, walk away, and leave the personification of everything wrong with the galaxy to her own just desserts. She’s pretty sure Miranda would be fine—Miranda’s biotics are almost on par with hers, not that Jack would ever admit that out loud—but she might break a nail, and that would be glorious. On the other hand, though, she could help the cheerleader screw over the organization that kidnapped her as a baby and raised her to be the twisted monster she almost became, had Shepard not stepped in. She owes Shepard everything. And Shepard’s voice, as ever, is in the back of her head, telling her what she should do.

Jack’s grown to love the voice, even if she hates having to help Eugenics Barbie.

“Fine,” she says nonchalantly. “Want me to blow this place up? Pretty sure I can channel the blast so it mostly doesn’t hit you.”

“Charming as ever, Jack,” Miranda says sharply, though Jack swears she sees a hint of relief in Miranda’s eyes, “but no. Just need to sit here a couple of minutes, then I’ll be out of your—“ Miranda glances at Jack’s mohawk-ponytail. “Huh, you actually do have hair now.”

Jack glares.

Miranda waves a hand dismissively. “Sorry, sorry. Just talk to me for a minute, give the guys following me time to give up.”

“Just…talk to you.”

Miranda arches an eyebrow. “A simple enough request.”

Jack laughs. “What the fuck do you and I have to talk about, cheerleader? The weather?”

Miranda rolls her eyes. “Anything. What about…” She looks around the cafe, her eyes landing on the almost-forgotten pad on the table. “What about this? Why were you yelling at it when I walked in?”

The horror that strikes Jack’s heart at the thought of Miranda seeing what’s written on the pad is the split-second of hesitation Miranda needs to scoop it off the table. 

“Give that back!” Jack growls, practically diving across the table. Miranda deftly defends herself with one hand, starting to read the pad from the other. 

“Violets are blue Roses are red—“

“Stop it!” Jack sends a biotic pulse out, trying to pull the pad back. The ease with which Miranda blocks the pulse, not even looking her way, is infuriating.

“Violets are blue Roses are red Your butt’s really cute I’m…glad you’re not dead?”

Jack groans in defeat, collapsing onto the table.

“Jack, what the hell is this?”

Jack mumbles a response into the table.

“What?”

“A gift for Shepard.” She sits back up in her chair and squares her shoulders, staring Miranda down like the former Cerberus operative’s a charging brute. If she’s gonna die of embarrassment, she’s gonna go down swinging.

“A…gift. For Shepard.” Miranda blinks. “You wrote Shepard a poem?”

“Writing, I’m writing a poem,” Jack snaps, trying—and failing—again to snatch the pad back. “It’s not finished yet.”

“That’s actually really—“ Jack can see Miranda physically stop herself from saying cute, and the shame of appreciating the gesture is almost unbearable.

“Don’t start,” Jack warns.

Miranda fixes her with a look. “You really do care for her, don’t you?”

Jack grimaces. “I’m not talking about this with you of all—“

“Jack.” Miranda places her hand on Jack’s, the tenderness of the gesture stunning Jack into silence. “Look. I was wrong.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, keeping her hand still.

“The psych profile Cerberus drew up before recommending you for recruitment on the Collector mission said you wouldn’t be able to form attachments. That you’d be a perfect weapon: volatile, dangerous, and expendable.” Miranda withdraws her hand, focusing instead on flicking through the screens on the pad. “I believed them. And I was wrong.”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong about a lot of things,” Jack snaps.

Miranda nods. “And you were right. About Cerberus, and about Shepard.”

“Well. Yeah. Good.” 

Miranda continues idly swiping through the pad as Jack collects her thoughts. A year ago, Miranda would’ve been paste on the Presidum ceiling for daring to touch anything of Jack’s, much less something so…private. Even now, Jack’s fingers are unconsciously flexing as she holds back the reflex to destroy everything around her.  

Because that little voice in the back of head, that voice she doesn’t get to hear often enough these days, is saying, Don’t.

“Actually, some of this isn’t bad,” Miranda muses, continuing to swipe through the pad. “Good, actually. Your use of imagery is evocative, and your word choice—“

“I don’t need a fucking lit-crit lecture, professor,” Jack says crossly.

Miranda shrugs. “I’m just saying. Some of the more free-form ones have potential. So why…?” She leaves the question unfinished, clearly unwilling to say So what the fuck was up with that first one?

Jack says nothing, just glaring out into the fake Presidium sky.

“Jack,” Miranda says, exasperated. “I’ve actually studied poetry, you know. I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Jack snaps, finally snatching the pad back. “I don’t want your help.”

“Fine.” Miranda crosses her arms, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

She probably could help, you know, Marin’s voice echoes in Jack’s brain.

Fuck you, Jack thinks back. 

Only if you’re good, Marin’s voice somehow winks at her.

Jack tries very hard not to think about what it says about her that she has conversations with her girlfriend in her head. Instead, she picks a window on the opposite side of the Presidium, stares it down like it’s an enemy Husk, and says to no one in particular, “I’m trying out metered verse.”

A beat. “I’m sorry?”

Still avoiding any sort of eye contact, she continues, “I submitted one of those free verse poems to a journal and got rejected. They said I should go for metered verse. That’s what…that was. An attempt. At meter.”

Another beat. Two. The silence stretches, so long that Jack wonders if Miranda has actually left. This was a bad idea, terrible. Telling Miranda anything, not throwing her bodily off the balcony before, deciding to write a stupid poem anyway, all of it. Fine, whatever, no worries, she’ll just—

“A sestina.”

Jack blinks, looking back at Miranda in confusion. “What?”

Cheerleader is looking at her thoughtfully, studying her like she’s never seen Jack before. 

“A sestina,” Miranda says again. “Six stanzas of six lines built around six different words, with a seventh half-stanza recapitulating the six words. Blank verse, so it doesn’t rhyme, which I think is your problem. Highly structured, which I also think will help you, given how you thrived on the Normandy.”

Jack just stares at her. “What?”

Miranda rolls her eyes and leans forward. She grabs the pad again and starts typing. “Look, I’ll find examples for you on the extranet. I know it’s unusual, but if I know you, and my extensive additions to your psych profile would suggest that I do, you need a form that lets you be evocative while giving you boundaries. Which I know you secretly appreciate, because again, you’re dating Shepard.”

She hands the pad back, having successfully found half a dozen extranet sites with examples, definitions, and commentary about this poetic form Jack’s never heard of. Jack reads silently for a little while, Miranda giving her the space to do so.

After a few minutes, she looks up begrudgingly at Miranda. “Six words, huh.”

“All built around six words,” Miranda nods.

“But…how do I pick six words?”

Miranda shrugs. “Up to you, you’re the poet. Make a list of her qualities, flip randomly through a dictionary, talk to people around here who know her. Doesn’t matter.”

This…could work, damn it all. Miranda’s been right before, not that Jack will ever admit it. And she’s sure as fuck not gonna admit it now.

But something subtle in her eyes must shift, because Miranda gives the barest of smiles. “Here, start with this word: addict.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve seen Shepard around coffee and you can honestly say she’s not addicted?” Miranda chuckles. “Plus, you can use it in multiple ways, which’ll help in constructing the verses.”

“Right.” Jack muses for a moment, lost in thought about poetry construction, Marin and coffee, the taste of coffee on Marin’s lips…

She shakes her head, clearing those thoughts in time to see a sly smile on Miranda’s lips. “See? Evocative.”

Then, suddenly, Miranda’s all business. “Well, thank you for letting me crash your writing session, but I think I’ve lost my tail, so I’ll be—“

Focusing intently on the pad, Jack interrupts conversationally, “Two men came in through the door behind the counter about five minutes ago and sat down at a table on your four. They’ve been staring at you ever since.”

Miranda goes perfectly, and utterly, still. “Ah. Alright. I…” She trails off, her eyes darting back-and-forth, trying to come up with a plan.

Jack chuckles, then looks up at her. “Miranda, you are an insufferable know-it-all, a war criminal, too obsessed with your own self-image, a patsy for terrorists, and just generally the worst.”

If possible, Miranda goes even more rigid, her ice-blue eyes staring daggers at Jack.

“And you’re one of Shepard’s, so I’ve got your back. Plus,” Jack ducks her head back down and mumbles, “you didn’t laugh. At this.”

She can feel Miranda’s eyes on her. She glares at the Shepard in her head. You make me soft.

Marin’s light chuckle just echoes in her brain. Doing the right thing sucks sometimes.

“Go,” she says to Miranda before she can change her mind. “I’ve got this.”

Miranda nods, and starts to get up. “Don’t…blow everything up.”

Jack rolls her eyes. “Oh look, you’re assuming the worst about me, what a shock.” At Miranda’s look, she glares. “I’d invite you to watch my finesse and control to prove you wrong, but you’re supposed to be getting the fuck out of here, Cheerleader.”

Miranda chuckles. “Right.” She turns as she walks away to say, “Send me a copy when you’re finished? I’d just love to see how the sestina turns out.”

“Not on your fucking life,” Jack calls back.

As Miranda gives a laugh and moves toward the exit, the two Cerberus thugs get up from their table, making a beeline for her. 

Jack smirks. Not so fast, dickwads.

— Financial District, Presidium, Citadel Nine hours before the present

“I’m sorry, who are you again?”

Jack rubs her temple, trying her level best not to swear in front of the toddler in the woman’s arms. Rebekah Petrovsky, mother, Citadel entrepreneur, and—crucially—somebody who asks entirely too many questions.

“Ma’am, as I’ve already said, I’m a…friend of Commander Marin Shepard. She’s spoken so…highly of you, I just want to ask you a question.”

That is a fucking lie. Shepard’s ranted about this woman multiple times in Jack’s presence, decrying “breeder culture” and “genetically engineering kids” and also “people who apparently can’t make a decision without involving me for some ridiculous reason.” Somehow, Shepard had crossed paths with this kid-obsessed lady a lot over the last three years, much to Shepard’s chagrin and Jack’s delight.

Less delight now that she’s experiencing the woman’s shrill tone for herself. But who better to know Shepard than someone she’d helped out more than once?

“Oh, if it’s a favor for Commander Shepard,” Petrovsky says, the namedrop positively dripping with…something, “that’s different. How can I be helpful?”

“Just…” Jack grits her teeth so it looks like she’s smiling. “I’m working on a…project for her, so I’m asking people who…know her how they might describe her.”

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, given the pure delight that springs into the woman’s eyes and the word vomit that  spills forth from her puckered mouth.

I’m in hell, Jack thinks, I died and I’m in hell and I’m being punished, I’m probably gonna have to plan this woman’s baby shower now, what the fuck is she going on about…

“I just couldn’t believe that Michael would put little Jake in danger like that! But that’s when dear Commander Shepard walked up and…”

“Ma’am— I’m sorry, ma’am, if I could just…”

“And I was just so tickled when she turned out to be alive after all! You know, I told Michael…”

“No, I don’t need— That’s not what I’m asking you for, just stop…”

“But Michael wouldn’t listen, he thought that the daycare on the Citadel would be—“

“Oh would you just shut the fuck up!”

Petrovsky stares at Jack, mouth wide open, for a long moment. Jack growls, “Just. Describe Shepard. In one word. One.”

The woman draws herself up to her full height, lips pursed like she’s sucking on a lemon, adjusting the laughing toddler on her hip. “Nice. She is nice.”

“Shut the fuck up!” the toddler parrots, delightedly clapping his hands.

Jack snerks.

The fury that crosses the woman’s face as she puts her hands over the boy’s ears feels almost better than sex.

“How dare you—“

“Look, lady, it’s not my—“

That’s when Jack spots the C-Sec officers in the distance over Petrovsky’s shoulder. And when they spot her. Guess her little stunt in the café got some attention.

Jack claps the woman lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks lady, you’ve been a big help. And you…” She leans in closer to the toddler, who looks at her with big, shining eyes, and says, “Fuck!”

The kid delightedly repeats, “Fuck!”

Jack sprints away, cackling as she hears the woman’s indignation. Nice certainly describes Shepard more than it describes her.

— Rodam Expeditions, Zakera Ward, Citadel Eight-and-a-half hours before the present

These C-Sec officers are better than the ones she’s tangled with in the past. That, or she’s easier to track now that she’s official Alliance personnel or whatever.

But Jack didn’t spend most of her life committing worse crimes than teaching a toddler to curse or, you know, biotically stabbing a couple of Cerberus assholes to get caught now.

She creeps along a wall, peering into the next corridor. A couple of shops, no sign of—

Wait. Shit. There they are.

Hoping they haven’t seen her yet, she darts into a nearby store, some tourism shop or other. As her body breaks the plane of the doorway, it chimes and a voice says, “I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel.”

Jack yelps in surprise and tumbles ass-over-teakettle into the counter. 

The turian behind it cocks his head at her and says, “You alright, ma’am?”

She pops her head up and peers out the doorway. “Uh…old ex-boyfriend. Can’t let him see me.”

Turians don’t have eyebrows. She’s honestly not sure what they have, but whatever it is the merchant does, it feels like he raises an eyebrow at her. He points behind the counter. “Hop back here for a minute, then, catch your breath.”

Jack hops over the counter and crouches down, breathing hard. She looks up at the turian, who’s staring at her like she’s a particularly weird looking bug. She starts to glare back before deciding not to piss off the guy who’s kinda rescuing her.

And then she replays the last twenty seconds in her head, and her eyes go wide.

“Sorry, was that— Did Shepard actually record an ad for this place?”

The turian grins. “About a year ago! It’s great, my business has skyrocketed since she did that.”

Jack blinks. “You know that she did one for, like, every store in this ward, right?”

Now he full on laughs. “Oh yeah, it was incredible! The looks on the other guys’ faces when they realized…oh, it was too funny. They were so pissed! Buncha them tried to do something, but she’s a Spectre, so what’re you gonna do? So they all just decided to delete her ads and pretend it never happened. Which leaves me,” he winks, “the only one left with an endorsement from the woman kicking the Reapers’ asses.”

Jack chuckles. Then, she cocks her head at him; she can use this. “So…if you were gonna describe Shepard in just a word, you’d say…”

“Funny,” he answers without hesitation. After a beat, he adds, “Or sarcastic. She roasted me when I asked her to record that, but…” He shrugs. “Worked out for me in the end.”

Funny. And sarcastic. Yeah, those both track. Jack’s been on the receiving end of Shepard’s particular brand of humor more times than she count. It used to bug the shit out of her. Now… 

She smiles softly. Hearing Marin laugh makes the worst day better.

The turian taps her on the shoulder, shaking her from the brief reverie. “Look, lady, I think your ‘ex-boyfriend’ went chasing a donut a few floors down, so if you don’t mind…”

Jack springs back up. “Yeah, got it. Uh, thanks, man.”

She vaults back over the counter and saunters out, Marin’s laugh still echoing in her head.

— Purgatory, Presidium, Citadel Seven hours before the present

“What do I think of Shepard? What are you asking me for, Jack?”

“I…it’s for a project, Tali. Just answer the question.”

Jack walks through the crowded bar, trying to blend in. Act normal. And what’s more normal than talking loudly on a call with a friend in public? Besides, there’s no point to suddenly having all this power from the Alliance if she’s not going to abuse the comm buoys for her friends.

“I mean…she’s great? Definitely one of the top ten humans I’ve ever met,” Tali responds, amused but with a note of confusion. “You of all people should know that, Jack.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just…”

“…it’s for a project. Right.” The holo-mini of the quarian above Jack’s omnitool shrugs.

Jack swallows her frustration with a shot of…whatever she swiped from the bar, she wasn’t really paying attention. “Look, Tali, you were there at the beginning. Way before me. I’m looking for your…unique perspective.”

“I am rather unique, that’s true.” Jack can hear the smile in her voice. “Well, more than anything, I’d say that Shepard is a huge nerd.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“What, you think that every time she came down to Engineering it was just to visit you?” Tali scoffs. “She helped me recalibrate that intake manifold like a dozen times. I think it was her way of dealing with being on a Cerberus ship, at least as first, but she asked a lot of good questions. Like she was actually interested in how everything worked.”

Jack nods, thinking. Yeah, that sounds like Shepard: asking too many questions and, to Jack’s eternal surprise, caring about the answers. Those long talks in the engineering subdeck felt like interrogations at first, until they didn’t. Until she looked at Marin, really looked at her, and saw someone who wanted to know her.

It was terrifying. Still is, if she’s honest. But…good.

“You know,” Tali says conspiratorially, “on our last mission, Shepard stole the mounted head of a husk from this guy’s laboratory.” Jack snickers at the way Tali draws out the ‘oh’ in lab-OH-ratory. “She keeps it in her cabin so she can run ‘experiments’ on it, but really I think she’s just trying to get it to make friends with the hamster.”

Jack laughs. “What a fucking nerd.”

Tali crooks a finger at her, in a gesture Jack’s come to think of as a wink. “See? Told ya.” She cocks her head suddenly, looking at something out of the projected field. “I have to go, we’re pulling into Thessia. Call you later?”

“Sure, thanks, I—“

A large hand falls on Jack’s shoulder, another one clicking her omnitool off. She instinctively starts to flare, but the biotic explosion dies as she turns her head to see who the fuck is touching her.

C-Sec uniform. Military haircut. Stern look on his face.

“Hi, Jack,” Commander Bailey says.

She groans.

Ah, shit.

— C-Sec Holding Cell, Presidium Commons, Citadel Now

She knows she could’ve gotten away. Punched Bailey, thrown a shockwave at his team, darted out of Purgatory and hijacked a freighter to parts unknown. But her damn students need her to be on the Citadel right now, respectable, not a fugitive from justice or whatever.

So does Shepard.

Once, she would’ve been overjoyed to have a chance to punch a cop. Now…she sighs and kicks the floor. So fucking soft.

The forcefield abruptly shuts off, and she looks up to see Bailey and his un-punched face glowering at her. “Come on, Jack, you’re done.”

She stands up and follows him out of the cell. “That’s all?”

Bailey rolls his eyes as he walks. “Normally, using biotics to stab two guys through the feet with coffee spoons into the floor so they can’t move would get you a harsher punishment than a couple of hours in a cooling tank. Which…why, Jack? Just why?”

She shrugs. “They were Cerberus.”

He stops walking for a second, shaking his head. “Ah, well. I’d tell you not to do it again but…fuck those guys.”

She laughs in spite of herself.

Bailey keeps walking. “And anyway, I couldn’t keep you in there even if I wanted to. You’ve been sprung.” He glances sideways at her, eyes twinkling. “Special Spectre dispensation.”

Jack blanches. Shepard…wasn’t supposed to find out about this.

He chuckles at the look on her face. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much. Best soldier I’ve ever seen, but underneath it all, Shepard’s as fluffy as a goddamn marshmallow.”

They walk out into the artificial light of the Presidium proper. “Next time, try not to be so public with your vigilante justice, yeah?”

“No promises,” she bites back.

He sighs. “Yeah, I thought that’d be a bridge too far. Well. See you next time, then.” He turns to go, then stops and turns back. “Oh, right. She wanted me to make sure you got this.”

He swipes a message over to her omnitool, text only, before walking away. She pulls it up: an address, some apartment on the Silversun Strip she’s never been to. The rest of the short message just says, Meet me here. About 36 hours out. Thessia went bad. Need you.

Jack’s heart twists. Marin’s messages are usually longer, sprinkled with anecdotes or curse words, depending on who she’s dealt with. A message this short…

…deserves something soft.

Jack squares her shoulders. Well, she started today intending to write Shepard a poem, so Shepard’s gonna get a fucking poem.

Addict. Nice. Funny. Sarcastic. Nerdy. And…she thinks back to what Bailey said. Marshmallow.

Marin Shepard in six words.

Jack gets to work.

— Anderson’s apartment, Silversun Strip, Citadel Thirteen days before the end of the Reaper War

Jack is clearly not rich enough to be in this building. The doorman stares at her tattoos. The receptionist stares at her mohawk-ponytail. The guy in the elevator stares…elsewhere.

But all she has to say is “I’m with Commander Shepard,” and they move out of her way. She smirks at each one of them, reveling in the power that simple phrase contains. No wonder rich people are such assholes, this feeling is intoxicating.

Soon enough, she’s knocking on a wood-paneled door at the end of a hallway, awkwardly holding the oblong package. Jack’s cased enough buildings to know this is the corner suite, and she idly wonders who Shepard killed to get access to this place.

The sarcastic question dies on her lips as Shepard—no, Marin answers the door. There’s no trace of the soldier, the leader, in her posture. She just looks…exhausted.

“Hey, Jack,” she says. “Come on in.”

She leads Jack into the apartment, a two-story, wide-open, immaculately decorated space that immediately sets Jack on edge. Nothing good ever happens in places like this. Drug deals. Trafficking. People with too much power deciding the fates of people with too little.

She looks over at Marin, who’s now sitting on the edge of one of the many couches, head in her hands. Well. If anyone could redeem a place like this.

Jack walks over to the couch, resting the package against the table and sitting down next to Marin. “You look rough, Shepard.”

Marin chuckles bitterly into her hands. “I feel rough.”

“I like rough.” Jack puts a hand on Marin’s shoulder. She’s shaking; not a lot, but too much. “Alright, whose ass do I need to kick?”

Marin glances over at her. She’s not crying, but she has been. Her eyes are red and puffy. And kind. Always kind.

“We lost Thessia, Jack. Kai Leng beat us there and took something we need.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “We’re running out of time.”

She leans into Jack, and Jack just holds her for a long moment. Soft.

After a while, she says into Jack’s shoulder, “Tell me something good.”

Jack thinks for a moment, and then chuckles. “I stabbed two Cerberus jackasses with coffee spoons the other day. Felt fucking awesome.”

Marin laughs, squeezing Jack tight before leaning back to look at her. “Yeah, I think I heard something about that.”

“Thanks, uh,” Jack rubs the back of her head, “thanks for getting me out of there.”

Marin grins, tired eyes full of mischief. “What’s the point of being a Spectre if I can’t abuse my authority for my…friend?” She winks.

It’s Jack‘s turn to laugh now. “And what authority are you abusing to squat in a place this fancy?”

“Ah, yes. This,” Marin says, spreading her arms wide, “somehow belongs to Admiral Anderson, who was apparently a pirate king in another life and didn’t tell me. Pretty lavish, right?”

Jack arches an eyebrow. “That’s a word for it.”

“He’s loaning it to me for a little while,” Marin says. “Hackett wants us to go into drydock for retrofits before we take Earth, so Anderson offered me this place to stay.” She shrugs, as if the commander of the Earth resistance forces gifting her a palatial apartment is a regular occurrence.

Then, she gets a keen look in her eye, peering at the package. “But the tour can wait. What is this?”

Jack blushes out of nowhere, suddenly so fucking nervous. Ugh. Such a joke. “It’s a…present. A project I’ve been working on.” A huge grin starts to cross Marin’s face, and Jack furiously says, “Don’t you fucking start, you little—“

Marin throws her arms around Jack and hugs her tight. Jack stiffens for a moment, then awkwardly hugs her back. She mutters, “It’s not a big deal, don’t make it a thing.”

Marin laughs as she pulls back. “No promises.”

She picks up the package and unwraps it. The large frame shines in the apartment’s down-lighting, the canvas within white with swirling blue calligraphy. Jack has to physically stop herself from twisting her hands nervously as Marin’s face goes slack. “Jack, did you make this?”

“Yeah.” Jack gives a tight nod. “Yeah, uh, they taught me calligraphy when I was in…when I was little. Said it was good for fine motor skills, biotic control. I don’t get a lot of chances to…use it. You know.”

Marin nods absently, tracing her fingers over the letters. Then all at once, her eyes go wide. “Wait. This is a poem. Did you…” She looks up at Jack. “Did you write this, too?”

Jack nods again, not daring to speak.

She watches Marin read it, her lips unconsciously mouthing the syllables. Jack’s been an experiment in a lab, trapped behind glass walls, trapped under psychotic expectations. She’s been in firefights too many times to count, pinned down by overwhelming forces, out of ammunition, her amp fried, her companions dead. She’s seen horrors most people couldn’t even comprehend, in her dreams, in her thoughts, in her bed.

Never, in her whole life, has Jack been more scared than watching Marin read her poem.

It takes a while, too. A sestina is long; too long, she thinks. Marin’s eyes flit over it, back and forth, taking in every detail, every image, every mistake, probably, she thinks. This was a mistake. Too much. Too much of me, too silly, too soft, too—

Jack’s eyes meet Marin’s as she finishes reading. The look she gives her fills Jack with a warmth she’s never known.

“How?” Marin asks.

Jack huffs uneasily. “It’s Miranda’s fault. Told me about the form, told me go talk to people about you.” She grins, adding, “I got to teach Petrovsky’s kid to say ‘fuck’.”

Marin laughs, long and loud. She looks back down at the poem, and softly says, “Why?”

Jack can’t help herself. “Because you’re worth it.”

“Thank you,” Marin whispers.

“It’s a little rough,” Jack responds.

Marin’s smile outshines the stars themselves. “I like rough.”

She gently puts the frame down, and they lay entwined on the couch for a long time, reminding each other exactly what they’re worth to each other.

They don’t even need six words.

—

Six Words for Shepard

The light fades, dark falling like an addict Tumbling to the ground. Everywhere, the nice And the cruel, the meek and the proud, funny And serious and even the nerdy Fall silent, their echoing sarcastic Words melting like a steam-drenched marshmallow.

We are all drifting, like a marshmallow Drifts in the cup of a coffee addict, Buffeted by fate or the sarcastic Laughs of a galaxy that destroys nice People, nice places, all that the nerdy Among us hold dear, their grief turned funny.

Yet we have a champion, a funny Idea as we sink in this marsh, mellow Soil for the dark. But with her nerdy Humor, warrior’s will, she seems an addict Not of the drink, but of all that is nice, Just, and good, eschewing the sarcastic.

And although it may seem still sarcastic To extol her virtues, there’s a funny Virtue in this exhortation, a nice Reminder that my love’s sweet marshmallow Core is filled with steel, and like an addict, I’ll ever seek her, for she is nerdy.

She’s a champion because she is nerdy, Her great mind always at work, sarcastic Quips only for fools, never the addict. Her plans outstrip friend and foe, and funny Though it is to have such a marshmallow In command, her calm shepherding is nice.

Don’t think that I’m just being fucking nice. See for yourself: the Commander’s nerdy Sense of righteousness, as the marshmallow She is, kills hostiles like a sarcastic Retort, their lives short, brutal, and funny. The rest, her heart cleaves to like an addict.

So sings this addict, drunk on my love’s nice, Sweet wine, a funny showing of nerdy Verse for my sarcastic, fierce marshmallow.

[n0kt3rnal]

This is Eezo. He’s naturally biotic. 

[wardenannie]

A lot of baby/pregnancy fic tends to focus on the end of pregnancy/the beginning of the baby’s life. But I wanted to do a little character study into Levi, so here he is over the course of 10 hours after learning Hange is preggo~  (mildly nsfw)

Ao3

10 Hours

Hour 0

 “So...” She faces away from him. Her single eye locked on the sky beyond her window. Hange Zoe, fourteenth Commander of the Survey Corps, will not turn to face him. She is sat at her desk, hands folded on its top. Levi cannot see her expression, but he expects that it is as grim as her tone. 

He braces himself for bad news. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The birds beyond the window stop singing. The clouds cease their trek across the cerulean sky. Levi’s breath is stuck in his chest, a painful lump between his lungs. 

“Come again?”

This time she does look at him, pinning him to the floor with an emotionless glance over her shoulder. 

“Pregnant. Expecting. Vertically impaired bun in the proverbial oven.” 

The short joke is lost on him. He exhales sharply, like someone punched him in the gut, “Oh.” 

Hange sighs and resumes her staring out the window, “Just think on it. You don’t need to say anything right now.” 

Levi swallows thickly and gladly takes the excuse to exit the room. His head is spinning, heart thundering in his chest. Pregnant. It doesn’t feel real yet. 

He retreats to the relative safety of his quarters. 

Hour 1

Levi punches a hole in his wall with a snarl. Untoward anger radiating through his limbs. 

Sheetrock and plaster rain down, dirtying his pristine floor, further incensing him. He kicks a second hole in the wall, shouting with the impact of his booted heel. More debris falls. 

He paces back and forth, occasionally tugging a hand through his hair. He’s sweating, he feels filthy. 

But he knows that Hange isn’t lying. This is not the sort of sick joke she would pull. But they had been so careful, hadn’t they? 

He replays the penultimate moments of their last few encounters over in his head, and quickly realizes that they haven’t been as careful as he’d thought. There is nothing quite like losing himself in the depths of Hange... Commander Hange. 

Shit. He curses himself and perches on the foot of his bed, resting his head in his hands. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do now? 

Hour 2

Eventually he finds himself spread eagle across his bed. His eyes trace along the wooden grain of the ceiling. His head still spins when he thinks too deeply about anything, and a strange ache has settled into his chest, like a fist around his heart. 

Does he love Hange Zoe? Would it be fair to bring a child into the world if he didn’t? 

They’ve never said the words aloud to one another, but he knows in his heart-of-hearts that he does love her. She anchors him to reality, instills in him a drive to live where there might have only been despair. 

His fists clench and unclench rhythmically in his linens. Levi shuts his slate eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm and steady himself. 

He is in love with Hange Zoe. He can admit that to himself now, in what feels like the most dire of circumstances. 

But can he love a child? Is there enough room in his heart? 

He rolls onto his side and covers his face with a pillow. 

It still feels unreal. A bad dream playing out before his waking eyes. 

Hour 3

He oscillates back into denial, then anger. 

Who are they to bring a child into this terrible, cruel world? An Eldian child, a scapegoat, a martyr for Marley to string up and burn. 

She has to be lying. Hange cannot possibly be telling him the truth. No Walls, no Gods, no omnipotent powers could be so terribly sordid as to bring an infant into the world now. Not while they are on the brink of war. 

Hour 4

He remembers his childhood; years spent wasting away in a whorehouse. Starving while his mother wasted her ill-gotten wages on booze. Levi was a bastard, fatherless. The only male role-model he’d ever had was Kenny, and look where that had gotten him. 

“I can’t be a father,” he whispers into the dying light of his quarters. 

He doesn’t know how. 

Hour 5

He takes his supper in the mess hall when he would normally eat within the privacy of his quarters. He hopes that the noise might distract, that interacting with his... his kids... might help him to better grasp his current situation. 

The irony of it isn’t lost on him as he sits in silence amongst his young comrades. In a way he has been a father to them where their own had become titan food. 

He watches Sasha scarf her food with abandon, Connie teasing her between his own hearty mouthfuls. He watches Jean roll his eyes at the two of them, then take a moment to proudly pet the patchy stubble that has begun to grow in around his chin. 

Levi listens to Armin excitedly pontificate to Mikasa and Eren about Marlean cuisine and meal customs. Mikasa listens on in contented silence, a small smile on her lips. Eren’s eyes are distant, like he isn’t listening at all. 

Levi wants to smack him on the back of his head. The twerp has been acting up a lot more as of late. Secretly, it worries him. 

His kids. 

Who needs a baby when they have it this good? 

He sighs and looks down to his tray, food untouched. 

They’re Hange’s kids, too. 

Their baby. Theirs. 

Hour 6

He returns to his quarters, stomach tied up in painful knots. He remembers Kenny, how the man had taught him the cruel, ruthless ways of the Underground. 

He remembers Isabel and Furlan. How he had allowed himself to love so selflessly only to be burned and brutalized in the end. What if that happened to Hange? Hange who he had come to rely on more than anything, anyone. Childbirth was a dangerous thing, everyone knew that. Even with the new, fancy anti-biotics being imported from the mainland the risks were high. 

What if he lost her? 

Her remembers Erwin who he had loved as a father, a brother, a martyr and a dear comrade. He remembers his Commander dying on that rooftop in Shiganshina. He remembers the blood. Icy blue eyes cold and dead as Hange peeled back his lids. 

Levi’s stomach rolls and he flips his upper half over the side of the bed and promptly vomits onto the floor. 

Behind his eyes an image has begun to take shape. Hange laid out in bed, naked from the waist down. Bloody, sweaty, weak and dying as a shapeless creatures squalls on her chest. 

“No,” Levi rasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He feels so weak, so helpless in the face of this indominable thing. The sleep that takes him is unbidden and restless. 

Hour 7

Levi dreams of a cabin tucked away amongst the massive boles of the trees beyond wall Rose. Smoke rises from the chimney, filling the crisp forest air with a pleasant, homey smell. 

Sunlight breaks through the canopy and speckles the ground. Everything is bright and beautiful and alive. The simple wooden door of the cabin beckons to him, and he is helpless but to answer its call. 

Inside the space is cozy and quaint. The kitchen and living area inhabiting the same space. Hange is waiting for him, sitting on a small, plush sofa. She isn’t wearing her eye patch, revealing the milky iris and silvery scar she usually guards so carefully. 

“Levi,” she beams at him. For a moment he is stunned by her simple, unkempt beauty. 

He knows he is meant to be anxious over something, but suddenly he cannot remember what it is. 

He sits down beside her takes her face between his hands and kisses her. 

I love you, he wants to admit the truth. He’s ready. But his lips will not part. The words will not pass his tongue. 

When they part Hange’s expression darkens, long shadows falling over her hawkish features. 

“Levi...” she breathes. 

Shadows begin to creep in from the corners of the cabin. The walls suddenly feel as though they are caving in, and suddenly his peaceful dream has become a nightmare. 

“You’re pregnant,” The sound of his own voice is alien and distant in his ears. He feels small. Smaller than usual. Miniscule and helpless. Why can he speak now? 

Hange nods and then the pair of them are besieged by shadows. 

Hour 8

Levi sits bolt upright in his bed, sweat is gathered on his brow and sharp shivers wrack his limbs. He pants and wipes his face with his palm. 

“Fuck,” he curses. 

He’s used to nightmares, but more often than not Hange is in bed beside him waiting to soothe them away. 

Here, in his quarters, he is completely and utterly alone. 

Levi doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

He tugs on his boots and stumbles out into the hallway, not caring how disheveled he must appear to any passers-by. He wants to be with Hange, he’s cursing himself for leaving her alone to begin with. 

How selfish does that make him? He’s not the one bearing the brunt of this burden. It isn’t his body and life that are at risk. What must she be feeling now? All alone because her lover left her in a fit of selfish upset. 

When he reaches her door he doesn’t bother to knock. It opens with a rush of air and he finds her where he left her; sitting at her desk, gazing out the window. Her elbows rest on the dry ink of a half finished letter. 

“Levi?” She spins sideways in her chair, facing him entirely. 

He shakes his head and closes the distance between them in two easy strides. He seizes her face between his hands and kisses her roughly, because he isn’t good with words, so he’ll show her how he feels. 

“Mmpf!” She makes a noise of surprise, but then she melts into him, hands lifting to rest on his chest, then caressing around to link behind his neck. 

When they part she gives a small, sad smile and says, “I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight.” 

“I was being an idiot,” Levi grunts, and he helps her to her feet. “A selfish idiot.” 

“No you weren’t, Levi. It’s a lot to take in, I know,” her thumb brushes his lower lip. “I love you.” 

Hour 9

The words are difficult to speak, so he shows her out he feels. He shows her in the reverent way he peels her clothes from her body, the rough, desperate caress of his touch, the slide of his thin lips over her chin and collarbones and breasts. 

He holds her hips and kisses from her navel to her abdomen, and he kisses her there too because despite everything he does want this baby. He loves this baby already, because it is him and it is Hange. The best of the both of them taking shape in her womb. 

Levi abandons all gentleness as he makes love to her. It is animal. Primal. His hands will leave bruises on her hips, and his lips suck hers swollen. 

When he finishes, just after her, he doesn’t bother to pull out. It doesn’t matter anymore. And as he pumps himself into her he whispers raspy and desperate into her sternum, “I love you.” 

The words hurt in such a sublime way. He’s never said them before, not once in his life. But here he is, speaking them, meaning them, bleeding them from his soul into hers. 

He loves her, and he’ll love this baby, too. 

Hour 10

They lay in bed, Hange’s fingers comb rhythmically through his hair, and she presses the occasional kiss to his crown. 

Levi has one arm wound around her waist, his cheek pressed into her sternum, his other hand cupping her abdomen, thumb caressing gentle circles into the skin there. 

“I know you’re afraid,” Hange finally speaks. Her voice is soft and loaded with emotion. “I am, too. But I think we deserve this, Levi. It’s a chance for a life beyond the Survey Corps, for a real family.” 

Levi tilts his head up and kisses her gently. She’s right, but he still cannot help but remember his vision and his nightmare. 

“There’s so much that could go wrong,” his voice is pained. He holds her tighter. 

Hange sighs and rests her cheek on his head, “You’re not wrong, but we’ve got eight months to figure things out, okay? For tonight, just hold me.” 

Levi sighs and melts into her, shutting his eyes. 

In Hange’s arms his sleep is dreamless. 

[southsidestory]

Can't Afford Love on Minimum Wage

"Do you have lavender-infused non-dairy macrobiotic sorbet?"

Sasuke felt his left eye twitch. "All sorbet is non-dairy. That's what makes it sorbet."

The customer flipped her long, blonde dreads over her shoulder, which disrupted the dreamcatcher resting on her pale forehead. "Whatever. Do you have it or not?"

Sasuke pointed toward the blackboard behind him. "Is it on the menu?"

Cultural Appropriation Barbie's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you know what's on the menu?"

"I do."

He could recite all twenty-six ice creams listed on the board, along with their primary ingredients, any allergens, a short description of their flavor profiles, and suggestions for which ones paired together best. Sakura had drilled all of that info into his head during his first two days at Jeni's.

Sasuke really wished he could go back to memorizing flavor facts.

"Then why are you asking me what's on it?"

"Because apparently you didn't read it," Sasuke said.

The customer gaped. "Where's your manag—?"

Sakura swooped in before she could get the question out and said, "Hi, I'm the shift leader! I think what Sasuke is trying to say is that we have some great options you might like. For a similar flavor, we have a wildberry lavender ice cream—"

"I don't condone enslaving cows for their milk."

Sasuke gestured toward the end of the freezer. "How do you feel about goats? We've got a goat cheese one down there."

"Sasuke, why don't you take your break?" Sakura said brightly.

"Sure."

As he headed toward the back, he heard Sakura describing their newest vegan flavor, a refreshing, bright sangria-style frosé sorbet, made with pear, strawberry, and watermelon.

Sasuke took a seat on a cardboard box filled with jars of fudge, butterscotch, and caramel sauce. He checked his phone. Only one message. From Naruto, naturally.

Good luck on your first day dealing with people. Try not to get fired this time lol

Sasuke could hear Sakura telling the vegan customer that her four-scoop cone and a pint of frosé sorbet were on the house and that she was very sorry about the employee who had been so rude.

"He's still in training."

Might have fucked that up already.

Dude. You've only been there three days 😂

Shut up

Do you know what macrobiotic means?

Macrobiotic? I think that's like the stuff they give you when you get syphilis

Sasuke rubbed his eyes. He must have gone temporarily insane to think Naruto would know the meaning of a word with more than three syllables.

That's penicillin you moron, a kind of *anti*biotics

"What the hell was that?" Sakura asked.

Gtg get fired ttyl

Sasuke put his phone in his pocket. "Sorry. Guess that was a little rude."

"A little? I'd hate to see your version of being very rude."

Sasuke waited for the verdict. On the one hand, Sakura was only a shift leader, not a manager, so she might not have the power to fire him. On the other, this was his third strike in as many days, so he had to be on thin ice.

Sakura ran a hand through her chin-length pink hair, and he had the stupidest thought: her hair is the same color as the frosé sorbet.

"You obviously need some guidance on how to give quality customer service. Have you ever worked at a place like this before?"

Sasuke had spent the last five years caught in a revolving door of food service and retail jobs. So he wasn't being entirely honest when he said, "A couple times, yeah."

"Okay, well, whoever trained you before must not have done a very good job," Sakura said. "I'll try to teach you how to deal with difficult customers with more… grace. And patience. And better manners. And—"

"I get it. I suck with customers. Can't you just stick me on the waffle cone station or make me clean shit?"

"As often as I possibly can," Sakura said flatly. "But sometimes you're going to have to scoop or run register, and your pissy attitude will break the tip jar. Half the money I make here is in tips, and I am so not letting you gut my paycheck."

"Wait, what? Half?" Sasuke asked. "You make seven bucks an hour in tips just for scooping ice cream?"

Sakura smirked. "Closer to ten, actually. And I make good tips because of my excellent customer service skills. Watch and learn, unless you want to live off minimum wage."

He could more than double his paycheck by being nicer to customers?

"Okay. I'm all yours." Sasuke held out his hands. "Teach me how to not be an asshole."

Sakura hid her smile behind her hand, giggling. Damn, her laugh was as pretty as the rest of her.

"I don't make any promises to improve your personality," she said, her voice teasing. "But I'll teach you how to fake it."

Sasuke doubted that. Chances were, he'd cuss out an annoying customer before the end of the week and be job searching again by Monday.

Until then, at least Sakura would keep him company.

.

.

Author's Notes: Here's a sneak peek at my SasuSaku romcom! Yes, you read that right, I'm writing comedy. It's based on an absolutely hysterical tiktok by Scott Seiss (which I'll link to in a reblog later, bc for some reason tumblr hates links). Many thanks to @birkastan2018 for inspiring the first line of this fic! And this is entirely @toondoon1010's fault for giving me the idea for this story.

[soldiermom1973]

N7 Month, day 27 - enlist

Some ME1 Allie & Kaidan.  You can read it on AO3, if you prefer.

. . . . . .

The ship was on its night cycle and ideally, Allie would be snug in her bed, sound asleep.  Problem was, her brain wouldn't shut down.  It didn't happen often but when it did, Allie usually fired up a movie she'd seen a dozen times – something familiar for her brain to focus on but that she didn't really have to pay attention to so she could sleep.  Tonight, though, that didn't work and she found herself sitting in the mess with a mug of hot tea, flipping through extranet pages of useless things she might buy if she ever settled down somewhere.

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked at her shoulder.

A smile spread across her face and she shook her head.  “Nope.  Help yourself, LT.”

Kaidan slid across from her with a mug of coffee firmly in his grasp.  “Isn't it a little late for caffeine, Alenko?” she asked.

“Caffeine helps with the headaches, so I drink a lot of it,” he shrugged.  “It honestly doesn't affect me much like that anymore.”

“Is that why you're awake?” she asked.  “Did you have a migraine?”

“No,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It's about time for me to re-up and my dad is pushing for me to get out.”

Allie's heart sank.  Saren was still out there and she had come to rely heavily on Kaidan's combat prowess, not to mention how well the two of them worked together as a team.  There was also the fact she'd been hoping for something a little more regulation-breaking with him, too, and he seemed to want the same thing.

“Oh?”  She tried to sound nonchalant.  “Why's that?”

“He was never thrilled about me enlisting in the first place.  I mean, I did well enough that he was eventually proud to tell people I was in the military, but he's never really been happy about it.”  Kaidan paused and took a drink from his mug.  “He had some bad experiences and I think he's afraid the same thing will happen to me.  Plus he wants me to start learning how to run the orchard and the vineyard.  He's itching to completely retire.”

“What does your mom think?”  Allie asked.

“She wants me to be happy,” he shrugged, “but that's like most moms.  She told me to do what I think it right and not worry about my dad.  He wants the time off, but she's quite happy staying busy with the business end of things.”

Kaidan paused and looked at Allie for a moment before asking, “What do you think I should do?”

Allie wanted to tell him to re-enlist, to stay in and help her catch Saren.  To stay in so they could still be close and figure out how to make a relationship work without getting demoted.

“I agree with your mom,” she said slowly.  “You have to do what's right for you.  You've done amazing things in the Alliance, Kaidan, and you've been a huge asset to the crew here.  And to me.”

Allie risked reaching across the table to touch his hand.  She smiled when he turned his wrist to twist their fingers together.  “But you can't stay in for me, either,” she added.  “I don't know what's going to happen after we catch Saren.  I've been thinking about getting out myself and just doing the Spectre thing, but to be honest, the Council treats me like shit and I'm not sure I want to work for them full-time.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “they do seem to like blaming you for stuff that isn't your fault.  It's like they only made you a Spectre so they could watch you fail.  Which you aren't” he added quickly.  “You're doing amazing.”

Allie's smiled widened and she felt her face flush.  “But you're right,” he said.  “I'd love to stay to be close to you, but we're really risking a lot with that already.”

Allie thought for a moment and asked, “You said to me after Eden Prime that the big reason you enlisted was because you were a biotic – something about being documented but not restricted so you might as well get a paycheck for it.  Was there something more than that?  Maybe a little rebelliousness because your dad didn't want you going in?”

“He never specifically said he didn't want me enlisting,” Kaidan said. “But I knew he wasn't happy about it.  Sure, I could have gotten work in the civilian sector, but the instant people find out I'm an L2, they tend to stay away.  You know, in case I turn psychotic or my brain explodes or whatever.”

“Are you happy?  In the Alliance, I mean.” she asked.

“Yes.” There was absolute confidence in his voice when he answered.  “I mean, sure, I've had some crap postings and shitty leaders, but for the most part, I really enjoy what I do.  I travel the galaxy, I get to play with tech, and my biotics are actually a bonus here.  And I get to meet some really fascinating people.”

He squeezed Allie's hand and gave her a shy smile.  Her heart fluttered and her face got hot as she returned the gesture.

“How about this, then,” she offered.  “Just do an extension.  Maybe six months.  Help me catch Saren and see if we can stop this Reaper crap from happening.  Then you can re-evaluate things and see what you want to do.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea.  I'll reach out to Menendez and see if that's possible.”

“It should be.  I can't have my best soldier transfer away from me in the middle of a mission that could affect the future of the entire galaxy.”  A grin spread across Allie's face when she added, “Maybe I could pull some Spectre strings to make sure that happens.”

Kaidan laughed and Allie's heart melted at the sound and the way his eyes crinkled and shone.  “I don't think that'll be necessary ma'am. Allie,” he murmured, giving her hand another squeeze.

The sound of footfalls on the steps had them reluctantly pull apart and put on a more professional appearance.  “So, LT, let me know how that works out,” Allie said as she stood.  “Get the extension and we can talk again after we nail Saren's ass to the wall.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kaidan said but stayed in his seat.  “I can do that.”

[ljandersen]

More 100 Days of Writing!  Yay!  I love that I get a hundred days of seeing everyone's writing process on my dash.  I’m not strictly following the questions in order or posting every day, but it’s fun to still play along.  Thanks, @the-wip-project !

--------------‐-----------------

Question from Day 2 (I know it’s not day two, but I’m erratically cheating, remember?)  For your current WIP:  Do you have many WIPs?  What motivates you to write this specific story?  What makes this story special for you?  Is there a special twist/trope/setting you wanted to explore?  What got you started on this particular story?

My current WIP is “Sideways,” a 5-part fShenko post-war long fic.  I’m posting it like a box set, essentially all the parts (books) in one big post on AO3.  I have the first draft written for all five parts and am currently posting part 3.

What motivated me to write this story was a string of “what if” questions that haunted me after finishing my 300k fShenko post-war long fic, “Burning Barriers.”  My mind kept spinning on questions about human-asari relationships.  What would it be like to be with someone who would live a thousand years?  You’re just a blip on their radar, while they’re you’re whole life.  

What would it be like to have a child who’s another species?  Asari have unique abilities like mindmelding, strong biotics, long lifespan, monogendered, not to mention unique culture.  Would the child feel less “yours” for being so . . . well, alien (pun intended)?  How would it feel knowing your partner and child would live on long after you?  

That’s when I started thinking, what if the asari parent died?  Whoa.  Then my mind was blown by the complexity.  Your child would be another species, bound to live a thousand years, and the parent meant to take care of them is gone.  Since your partner was going to live hundreds of more years, the human partner probably never even considered the possibility of losing them.  Now the human parent is all this alien child has.  It had so many implications, my mind kept going.

I wanted to explore these ideas in a story, but I didn’t want to write an AU of my own fanfiction.  I didn’t want to write a story that wasn’t fShenko.  FemShep and Kaidan are my favorite characters, and it’s their relationship I find compelling.  

That’s when I thought, what would Shepard think of this alternate storyline?  It’s interesting enough to think of her outside perspective, but what if it was further removed than even that.  What if she saw it like I did having this other canon story ending in mind?  What if the Shepard who finished my story in “Burning Barriers” and who ended up with Kaidan went to this other AU reality?  

I could follow an idea from “Burning Barriers” that wasn’t realized but intrigued me.  Kaidan’s asari wife is dead.  He has an asari child now.  How much better if he and Shepard are even enemies?  Maybe Shepard has been a bad person in this timeline.  After all, Mass Effect is all about the Paragon and Renegade timelines. Add in this story being told from the POV of the Shepard who’s been happily married to him in the “real” timeline, then the complexity and nuances expanded.  How would she reconcile his identity to her, being both the person she knows and loves the best, but also the person she knows the least and who is also an adversary?  

Then, I thought . . . What is Bad Shepard took my canon Shepard’s place?  I ended “Burning Barriers” with Shepard being human Councilor.  She lives on the Pacific with Kaidan and their daughter.  That was already there in my post-10 year epilogue.  What if this switch went both ways?  It’s always a fascinating trope taking someone who’s a maverick loner and dropping them into a family situation.  Do they become a better person?  

False identities always interest me, and both stories lines would play so well to that interest.  How would this imposter function?  Both Shepards would be taken as the their altero ego, at least, initially if not longer.

So I started writing “Sideways.”  I needed to tell the backstories to fill in the ten years of lost time for both timelines.  But how to do it?  Just through present-day revelations?  A bit boring.  Flashbacks are often considered unnecessary and needlessly complicate a story.  

What if the flashbacks had more meaning beyond just revealing the past though?  What if they provided a ticking clock.  I needed a ticking clock, after all, and this was the perfect way to hit two birds with one stone.  The present day revelations about the past could provide tantalizing clues and hint toward scenes that aren’t revealed yet.  There would be gradual progression of stories from the past connecting to the present storyline.  Perfect.

I actually wrote several chapters of “Sideways” and then discarded it.  I didn’t want to pour myself into more fanfiction.  It was time to move on.  Do something original.  Who would read a long fShenko fic that jumped off my 300k story?  “Burning Barriers” wasn’t read.  I think a year after posting, it had 25 kudos, under a thousand hits, and was pretty stagnant with the hit count even moving.  I had a few wonderful people who made the process worthwhile through their generous comments and friendship. It would go on to get a lot of great feedback that would change my feelings about it, but at the time, the story’s reception was disappointing.  It seemed unwise to take an already abysmal turnout for 300k words and cut the readership even further for a new story +100k story.  So I tossed my first few chapters of “Sideways” aside.

I came across the chapters again a while later.  I still had these ideas in my head for it that I was trying to squelch while I focused on ideas for an original sci fi series.  When I was flipping through a notebook, I came across the story I had abandoned, and I started to read it.  By the end, I was left thinking, “But then what happened?  This is actually pretty good.”  At that point, I decided I had to write it.  I had too much passion in the project, and I had to see it through. 

I decided for it to be successful (or at least, not catastrophically unsuccessful), it had to stand on its own.  Hardly anyone had read the preceding 300 k story, which I had made the mistake of posting all at once.  I needed this to be its own story.  It had to be less words than “Burning Barriers,” which at 300 k was already too much of an investment.  

Then I started writing my new story . . . 800 k words later (or so I estimate), I obviously didn’t meet my goal.  But I loved writing every word, and I love how the story progresses and develops.  It had a good pace, and I’m proud of it.  It lent itself naturally to being divided into a series, since it had mini-arcs with mini-villains and achievements being reached.  By editing each part separately, I was able to start posting, which after two years of writing the story was beginning to feel like would never happen.

Now, here I am posting part 3.  I have amazing people who support me and have made the experience rewarding by sharing their enthusiasm and thoughts in comments and tags.  “Sideways” surpassed “Burning Barriers” initially low turn out and has managed to stand on its own as I hoped.  For a story that took so long to make it to this point, it’s been fulfilling to have so many fandom friends who cheer me on.  I appreciate everyone who supports “Sideway” and just me in general as part of the fandom community.  

And that’s how my supersized story came into being.    

[luca-moreno]

'The Box' training. Lower deck gym. 0900 sharp.

~Sparkles

The lower deck gym on the Berlin was noisy, filled with the dull thuds and grunts of a shipload of soldiers trying hard to work on any edge they could find in a fight, but Eva was an oasis in a desert of sweat and tears.

Her back was to Luca, sitting cross legged on the mats in center of the hall. Pale blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail that fell down her back and her customary back N7 striped hoodie slipped off one slim shoulder. Luca crept silently up behind her, then launched into a sprint but he managed only five paces before he felt himself lifted into the air and a sparkly sensation skipped over his skin. He grinned wildly as he looked down and found a blue shimmer all around him. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to sneak on her.

“Evie,” he laughed then threw his arms out, trying to find some way to direct himself. It wasn’t all that different from zero G and he had about as much control when Eva’s biotics held him. “Come on, put me down.”

Eva doesn’t move from her position or even open her eyes. Luca catches the slight movement of her wrist and then Eva drew him from behind her so that he hovered in the empty space in front of her. Luca flailed slightly, still trying to find some kind of balance but it turned out to be futile when he suddenly finds himself flipped upside down. He yelped slightly in surprise.

“You're late. You’re been avoiding me,” Eva said, finally cracking one eye open. They’re almost nose to nose and Luca feels the blood rushing in his ears. He protests with more flailing limbs and a whine of her name.

“No, I haven’t! Evie!”

“You have been ignoring my messages though.”

Luca groaned and let his arms hang. “No! I haven’t… I mean I have, just... not on purpose. I’ve been-“

She flips him again then lowers him gently to the mat. The sparkle along his skin vanishes as he settles onto his backside in front of her. Around them, the hall is still busy and the lack of interest Eva’s biotic display caused amongst the crew only went to demonstrate how used to their unusual contingent of super soldiers and N7’s they were.

Luca peered at Eva’s face, his own expression falling when she doesn’t greet him with her usual smile.

“Are you mad at me, Evie?”

“No,” she shook her head but her lips quirked up in a smile. “But I do miss you.”

“I’m sorry.” He crawled across the small space between them to throw himself against her in a too tight hug. He was pleased when she returned it with equal enthusiasm and ruffled his hair with a free hand for good measure. “There was the promotion and the party and Commander Miller’s been keeping me busy and Lt Ryan sprung my final tests for flight training on me and-“

Eva raised an eyebrow and gave him a very knowing look. “-and Hurricane.”

“And Hurricane,” he agreed with sheepish duck of his head. It took everything he had not to squirm when she leaned over and tugged on his plain navy blue Alliance issue workout tee and exposed the smattering of dark blooms across his collarbone.

Her expression flickered in a way that made his stomach fall. He knew what was coming next.

“Luca-“

“They’re the good kind,” he rushed to assure her, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. “I promise.”

Eva’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I like Ben, but if he hurts you I’ve already thought of at least six different ways to kill him.”

Luca scrunched his nose, not entirely sure if she was joking. Her eyes still sparked a little too blue not to feel like the echo of a threat.

“Are we talking physically or emotionally?” he joked weakly.

Eva glances away. “Both, Lulu.”

Luca’s good mood evaporated instantly. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to worry.”

“Of course I have to worry. It’s in the job description.”

“Worrying about pesky engineers love lives is in a fury’s job description?” He said sceptically and pretended to activate his omni-tool. “Wait, let me see. I should really talk to someone about that if it’s true. Seems like kind of a waste of resources-“

She laughed and pulled him in for another hug. “No, I mean as your very best friend in the whole galaxy.”

“Yeah, that’s right, best friend,” he crowed despite the loose headlock she held him in. “Suck on that, whoever you used to hang out with before me-“

He can’t finished talking because she squishes his cheeks. “So is it official? You usually tell me everything but you’ve been so quiet on this. What’s going on? God, I’m dying Luca. Isaac has been so busy and you’ve abandoned me-”

“Stop,” he laughed at her dramatic sigh but then he shook his head. “Uh. And no. I mean… just fooling around.” Luca shrugged half-heartedly at that. “Hey, so are we gonna train? Zeus is giving me one of those weird glary looks. I can feel it. Those eyes boring into the back of my head-“

“Oh, are you saying you can actually fit me into your very busy schedule, Lieutenant Moreno?”

“Ha, ha,” he said flatly then flopped backwards. He made a vague attempt at stretching when he heard Zeus bark at someone nearby to get off the mats if they weren’t actively training.

Eva pivoted gracefully and joined him lying back. There was another shimmer across his skin and Luca snickered when he realized she was now floating them both. A moment later, Eva let out a frustrated huff.

“I need to get off this ship, Lulu.”

“Me too. Uh. Actually… About that. I might... Uh, there is something I need to talk to you about...”

[nitewrighter]

Just got back online from a power outage and ate something that made me feel like I was going to be sick :( Could I request a prompt? | Genji comes back from a rough mission, but Mercy isn’t aware yet. His injuries aren’t bad enough that he needs to be hospitalized but he is shaken up (maybe from something that reminded him of a traumatic event or something personal was said to him, causing him to hesitate and get hurt). Genji comes back and Mercy sees his injuries. He is reluctant to talk.

I love edgy Blackwatch Genji, and that first prompt has edgy Blackwatch Genji written all over it.

-----

“Honestly, Shimada, you’re being a child,” Moira was stooping over him on the dropship as he winced away from the ‘healing’ hand of her biotic rig. For all intents and purposes, the mission was a success, but after that Null Sector virus had caused his prosthetics to seize up, Genji had had more than enough people poking at his patchwork monstrosity of a body for one night.

“I said I’m fine,” muttered Genji.

Moira  braced a long-fingered hand on his shoulder to steady herself as the dropship shook with turbulence, the contact making Genji’s whole body tense. “You’re literally bleedi--”

“Moira,” Reyes’ voice was tired, “He said he’s good.”

Moira’s eyes flicked over to Reyes. He and McCree were in their respective dropship seats, all strapped in. Reyes was giving Moira a long quiet look that made Genji feel even more like a child. McCree’s hat was over his eyes, sleep already overtaking him, otherwise he would have been the first to get Moira to back off.

“You know what? Fine,” said Moira, withdrawing her hands, “If you want to play the wounded puppy for Doctor Ziegler, don’t let me get in your way. God forbid anyone on this team is practical.”

“I’m not playing---” Genji’s shoulder’s bunched up with fury, but he caught himself. Moira’s eyes were back on him. Prying. Dissecting. Ready to take anything he said, synthesize it with everything she already knew about him, and throw it right back at him. He knew there was only so much you could engage with Moira, he knew that. He looked to his organic hand, twitching, shaking, and clenched it into a fist, pressing it against the metal of his prosthetic knee.

“We’re all tired. We’re all tense. Maybe we should take a note from McCree for once and just settle down until we get to headquarters,” said Reyes.

Genji huffed, his breath pressing against his skin underneath his metal faceplate. Moira gave Reyes a placid look that made Genji’s blood boil more. 

“Of course,” said Moira, slumping back into her seat on the dropship. She gave Genji a mocking smile, “What’s one more scar for our guardian angel to kiss better?” Genji felt his ears burning but then glanced off, furiously. He sullenly brushed the blood out of his eyebrow.

“Moira,” Reyes’ voice was flatter.

“I know, I know,” Moira gave a dismissive hand wave before settling into her seat and strapping in. She wasn’t looking at Genji but he could see the tugs at the corners of her mouth that told him, ‘It is all too easy to get a rise out of you.’ He simmered back into his own seat and turned his attention to the window. There was only blackness outside the dropship, and the reddish interior lights made the glass show his reflection, and he couldn’t look at that for more than a few seconds. He folded his arms tight across himself, gave one final scan across the dropship before settling in for the long ride.

----

The next few nights in Zurich Genji dreamed of coming apart the way you dream of your teeth falling out. No pain, no more than the usual phantom limb sensations, but a horrifying awareness, the sensation of gaps widening within you before they come loose. He avoided Mercy’s office and the medical labs. He knew it was stupid, and he knew Moira wouldn’t know, and he knew he was probably playing right into Moira’s sick little games by dwelling on it that much, but at the same time, he couldn’t stand the idea of proving her right.

Right about what? That you trust Doctor Ziegler more than her? he thought angrily to himself he briskly walked through the hallways of Headquarters,  That’s just common sense.

What’s one more scar for our guardian angel to kiss better? He could hear the smirk in Moira’s voice in his head and some mix of fury and embarrassment prickled along his scarred skin as he stepped into a lift.

We just talk, that’s all, She’s nice to listen to. he thought as the doors opened to a world of white, blue, and steel. He stretched his arms above his head and leaned into a side stretch, And she listens to me. And she’s funny. he circled his arms in their sockets and circled the ankles of his prosthetic feet. I’m not stupid. I know nothing’s going to come of it, he thought as he headed to the primary monitor for the course and customized the training field to a handful of various obstacles--some moving platforms, a few sleek walls to scale, some columns to rebound between, some non-lethal pulsefire turrets, I know what I look like.

Normally he would be using Ryū Ichimonji to tear through a slew of training bots, but the Null Sector mission had put him off slicing through robots at least for a while. Maybe he could spar with Sojourn or McCree later, but for now, he just wanted to feel the wind rush past him. Drawing only his short tanto, he broke into a sprint, deflecting shots from the turrets, before running along a wall and rebounding off or it, springing on the fingertips of his prosthetic arm. Sometimes, when he ran fast enough, he could focus just on the sensation of his heart pumping, pull his mind away from the wires coursing over his body and the way his feet making contact with the ground didn’t course up his legs in the right way. Just focus on the heart, just focus on the breath. So much of his training with the Shimada clan was focused on total body consciousness, awareness of every breath, every muscle, all of that training was a curse with his new body. But he could run, he could climb, he could bound off of walls, he could leap and flip through the air, nimbly pace along narrow railings, lose himself in the rush of the wind.

  Flow like water. 

He managed to deflect the pulsefire back to the turrets to shut them down, scaled and rebounded off of a few more walls, lost himself in the motions, lost all sense of time, raced back to the beginning of the course, and did it again. And again. And again. And again. Climb and leap and deflect and climb and run and run and run and maybe the fury and the pain won’t catch up with you. He pushed himself to that heart-pumping point where even his prosthetics were shaking with exhaustion. He could smell the metallic intermingling of his own sweat and his prosthetics even under his faceplate. Almost in defiance of those physical limits, he scaled one of the observation buildings bordering the training grounds and perched on the roof there, to catch his breath, feeling the cold alpine air on his skin. He flopped back against the roof to stare up at the open blue bowl of the sky, fringed with little wisps of mare’s tail clouds breezing off of the snowcapped mountains. He closed his eyes for a brief few minutes, focusing on his own breath and heartbeat, before a sharp, unnatural sound prompted his eyes to flick open. A shing sound, almost like a blade being drawn but not quite, more ringing, more sustained, before it faded into the sound of the wind. He pushed up from the roof to a sitting position, and scanned around. Someone else using the training field? He glanced down at his custom obstacle course, still untouched, and a couple of lazy training bots drifting around. His red eyes narrowed skeptically before shing-woosh! That sound whipped overhead and he glanced sharply upward. 

The wings were the first thing he made out. Blazing yellow feather-like constructs of light on white frames, the sun shining through them making him squint against the blue of the sky. It took him several esconds made out the figure attached to them. Donning goggles and what appeared to be a modified version of their orange and gray training jumpsuits, Mercy had her hair tied back in its usual voluminous ponytail, but now flailing like a flame in the wind, but didn’t notice him as she rushed overhead, banked sharply left, then shot upward. He was so used to seeing her slumped down in that chair in her lab that even despite their whole exchange over the poster and the fact that she was Mercy, despite her offhandedly mentioning this mission or that during their late night lab chats, this sight and the fact that indeed, she was an agent of Overwatch with all that entailed sank into him. She was Mercy. She could fly. She swooped in and rescued people--probably not as glamorously as all the propaganda made out, but she actually did that. Was this the first time he was seeing her fly outside of all the posters and videos? He felt a little embarrassed that it was taking this long for these facets of her to sink in, but then again, he knew his own anger was clouding his mind, constantly turning it back to the Shimada clan, to Hanzo. He watched as she burst out from a cloudbank, hair wet, wings still blazing, streams of vapor from the cloud trailing behind on her wingtips like wake.

Our guardian angel, Moira’s voice echoed in his head again, but no, that didn’t seem right. Maybe the Mercy on the poster was a ‘guardian angel,’ but watching Angela Ziegler felt like something sharper, more powerful, more self-possessed. There was grace in her movements, though. He wondered if, in the development of the Valkyrie suit, they had told her how to hold out her arms, how to hold out her legs, tensed and streamlined, halfway between swimmer and dancer, her entire body curving into her turns, or if, because she was the one the valkyrie suit had been developed for, this was all her. She shot upward again and stupidly his eyes followed her until he found himself looking directly at a dazzling white sun, and he winced and looked away. He blinked the spots out of his eyes and quietly cursed himself, and some stupid, juvenile part of him was mad at her--and he knew it clearly wasn’t any ill intent on her part but at the same time a bitter voice in his head surmised his frustrations as ‘How dare you come here specifically when I am trying not to think about you.’ But then that thought was immediately wiped away as he saw a shape drop out of the clouds. Gray jumpsuit. White wingframes--no yellow glow. Panic flooded his chest. Had something gone wrong with her wings? He looked at the edge of the roof he was on. She was clearly too far away for him to intercept in her descent if he leapt off for her. His stomach tied up in knots, and he felt the cold of his own prosthetics sinking throughout his body. But he could hear no scream on the wind and he squinted at the plummeting Mercy. Her back was toward the ground and her arms were tucked over her chest in an X, almost like she was hugging herself, her long legs trailed skyward as she dropped, then easily, with that dancer-swimmer’s grace, she twisted in mid-air, righting her back towards the sun again, and swinging her legs down toward the earth as those bright feathery lights sprang out from her wingframes again. She caught herself, glided, almost lazily now, towards another section of the training area. Where he saw Liao and Torbjörn waiting. He felt his ears burning again. None of them seemed to notice them as Mercy made a jogging contact with the ground and trotted over to them, but a certain shame caught in the pit of his gut that he had been so caught up in watching Mercy’s flight that he hadn’t even seen them come in. Liao seemed to be taking rapid notes on her tablet as Mercy spoke, and Torbjörn was talking and pointing at her wings and harness. Genji decided to leave the training ground before any of them caught sight of him. He didn’t really like the idea of sneaking off like that, but he didn’t really want to explain that he had been spending the past... however long staring at Mercy either. 

He managed to make it out of the training grounds pretty much unseen, but she caught him in the hallways only a few minutes later. 

“Genji?”

He startled slightly and glanced over his shoulder at her. He had been counting on her showering, cleaning up in the lockers, or something like that, but she was still in the jumpsuit. The sunlight was streaming on her sideways through the hallway window. Her hair was still wind-tossed, her skin flushed, and her goggles were pushed up on her forehead. He said, “Oh--hello, Doctor Ziegler,” while quickly trying to think of a thing he had just been doing that was not being on the training course.

“I thought I saw you on the training course!” she still sounded breathless from her flight.

Shit, he thought.

“Um... yes... just... doing some post-training meditation,” said Genji, itching at his hair.

“I should get on roofs more often. You think I’d have the idea with these things,” she gestured with a thumb back to her wings as she did that brisk, doctorly walk of hers up to him, “But all I know with them is banging them on doorways.”

Genji chuckled a little at the image, but something softened in Mercy’s face that put him on guard.

“It’s good to see you, Genji. I’ve barely heard from you since that last Blackwatch mission, I was getting worried.”

“Worried?” 

“McCree said it got pretty close,” she said folding her arms, “I--” she perked up and her brow crinkled as she looked at his face. 

“What?” said Genji.

She brought her hand up and instinctively he leaned back, the exhaustion of the mission, that wariness from the dropship and Moira’s words still burning in his mind, but rather than reach out to him she touched her eyebrow in that same spot where he now had a scab on his own brow. “This is new,” she said. 

“Mm,” he folded his arms, glancing off, “It’s nothing.”

Her shoulders slumped as her hand dropped from her brow, “Lucky shot?” she offered.

“Huh?” Genji’s eyes flicked back to her. 

Mercy snorted a little, “It’s just... something McCree always said whenever he wound back in the infirmary. ‘It was a lucky shot,’ ‘Cheap shot,’ ‘not a fair fight,’ things like that...”

“It... wasn’t a fair fight,” Genji allowed, and something shifted in Mercy’s expression. That gentle, searching face that told him she wanted to help him but needed to know more. And he wanted to let her in but at the same time it felt like reopening wounds. Wounds he couldn’t put on her in good conscience.  “I’ll be fine,” he added stiffly, “Still getting used to Overwatch missions. It’s not like the Shimada clan where...” he trailed off. 

A pause passed between them.

“You get used to them,” said Mercy, “And from what I’ve heard from Jack, Reyes says you’re already doing well so---” her comm beeped and she checked it and sighed a little. “Ach.. Liao needs more follow-up. I need to get out to the training field. Why an AI expert is getting so fixated on flight systems... I’m a little scared to ask...” 

“You should get going,” said Genji with a nod and a shrug. 

She smiled a little, but that searching look didn’t leave her eyes. She turned to walk off but paused, “Well... if you’re up for it, I’m still making too much coffee down in the lab after hours,” she glanced down, smiling, “I wouldn’t mind some help with that.”

A soft, near-chuckling huff escaped him. “...I’d like that,” he said. She gave him a nod and walked off. The wing frames bobbed behind her slightly with her steps and as he watched her walk off, he felt some lingering relief coupled with and indescribable ache. There was a bit of victory in the idea that Moira was wrong, that he wasn’t playing wounded puppy, that simply Angela was someone he trusted and enjoyed spending time with, with no hope of anything else. He had no delusions of hope of anything else. That was what Moira didn’t understand about him.

We just talk, Genji thought again, watching Mercy walk off, That’s all.

[aricazorel]

For your fluffy prompts, can I ask for "Stay with me please" for femshep x Kaidan please :)

Thank you for the ask! From this list.

Kaidan Alenko x Rebecca Shepard; post ME3

(mostly fluff, maybe a little angst...)

~ ~ ~ ~

Six months ago the Reaper War ended. Five months ago the Normandy returned to Earth after being knocked off course by the energy discharge from the Crucible. One month ago Kaidan Alenko brought home Rebecca Shepard.

By whatever powers that be, they both survived the final battle with the Reapers. Kaidan and the crew of the Normandy limped home on sub-light after the Relays became disabled. They found Earth still standing as reconstruction effects slowly beginning. And while that was important for the crew, finding out his mother and wife were alive meant even more to the Major.

His mother was unharmed, having found a refuge during the war and now lived at the Alenko orchard. His wife was alive. Shepard once again beat the odds and lived. Kaidan had been told she’d been found under rubble from the Citadel near London. She’d sustained several broken bones, internal injuries, and severe burns. She’d been in a coma when he’d first seen her.

A few weeks later, she’d regained consciousness. Once she realized he was there, her first words had been ‘stay with me please.’

Of course he had stayed. Kaidan had spent every possible moment by her side. Through every surgery, every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every triumph, every set back. He stayed.

Now resting peacefully in their bed at the cabin he had built after Jump Zero before joining the Alliance, Rebecca Shepard continued to slowly recover. Refusing to let the Reapers or Cerberus get the last laugh, she refused to give up. As soon as she had been strong enough to leave the hospital, Kaidan had whisked her away to the cabin which miraculously survived the Reapers’ onslaught. He refused to let anyone or anything jeopardize the progress she’d made.

Now as he stood in the doorway of their bedroom, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He caught himself doing that more often nowadays. He had almost lost her twice, but she came back.

Stay with me please.

Her words rang in his head every time he watched her sleep. He had repeated a silent prayer almost exactly like that since he’d learned Shepard had made it to the beam in London all those months ago. And she had made it back. His wife had stayed…

The Major took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was over. The nightmare was over, and they could live again. They were alive. Both of them…

“If we weren’t married, I’d think the staring thing you do while I’m asleep was creepy,” Shepard’s voice called out to him.

Kaidan opened his eyes to see a pair of green eyes staring back from across the room. A mischievous grin played upon her pale features. Her red hair laying on her pillow in a loose braid. He was still attempting to refine that particular skill.

“Good thing we’re married then,” Alenko retorted, wondering how often she was actually awake when he watched her.

“Yeah,” Rebecca agreed as she attempted to sit up.

Kaidan quickly moved to her side of he bed as he scolded, “You aren’t supposed to do this by yourself yet.”

“But I’m not helpless,” she pouted as he carefully maneuvered her into a sitting position against her pillows.

“No one said you were but accepting help isn’t a bad thing, Becca,” he replied as he flipped the messy braid over her shoulder. “But you don’t know how many times the only thing preventing me from using my biotics to keep you from doing something stupid is your doctor’s orders.”

“But I like it when you use your biotics on me,” she said coyly, batting her eyelashes at him. “Means you’re all hot and bothered.”

“Shepard,” the L2 biotics said warily as he gently sat on he edge of the bed.

“We’re married, Kaidan. It’s not like it’s a bad thing,” she said with a shrug. “I like to see you glowing blue when we are together. It’s a turn on.”

Kaidan sighed heavily as he watched the Commander extend a hand towards him. It was her left one, the one she had broken and suffered severe burns on. She had received a skin graft which was still evident on her forearm. It shook just the tiniest bit still as he gently took it in his.

“I know but we have to take things slow for a while longer,” he reminded gently. Knowing patience wasn’t his wife’s strong suit, Kaidan continually attempted to convince her the wait would be worth it in the long run.

“Waiting sucks,” Rebecca mumbled pouting again as she glared at nothing in particular.

Apparently the great Commander Shepard had no problem setting aside her bad-ass façade in order to pout at her husband. Most of the time it didn’t work, but that had changed when he discovered what had happened to her after the Crucible fired. Now for better or worse, the second human Specter found himself giving in more often to those pouty lips.

“I promise we will make up for lost time,” he vowed squeezing her hand lightly. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

“Anything?” she asked innocently, her green eyes demanding an honest answer.

“Anything,” he repeated.

Shepard was quiet for a few moments as she gazed at him thoughtfully. “What about what I want now?”

“Right now?”

She nodded.

“Shep, I can’t—”

“Stay with me, please,” she uttered quietly. He would never tire of hearing those words from her.

Kaidan smiled, realizing she had just been teasing him before. When would he stop falling for that? “You know there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

The Commander grinned as she patted the other side of the bed. Wordlessly, Alenko complied. Assuming a seat next to her, he slipped under the blankets as he wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders. Shepard leaned comfortably against him, her head on his shoulder.

Kaidan wasn’t sure how long they sat there in silence as the setting sun cast long shadows through the French doors from the wrap-around porch. Everything was worth it. Even all the hardships and the sacrifices if it meant the woman who had held his heart for years, the one her had married in an impromptu ceremony aboard the Normandy, remained in his life.

She’d come back.

Despite everything, she’d come back.

Shepard’s words since she’d woke up to find him waiting for her, played in his head again. But they weren’t just her words anymore…

“Stay with me. Please.”

The words tumbled out unbidden but no less true. A wish, a prayer he had said to himself for months now, finally given a voice. Now said aloud for his love to hear.

She shifted against him ever so slightly. Quietly she repeated his words from earlier, “You know there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

Kaidan kissed her temple, knowing they had just made a promise to one another. One to reinforce the vows they had made on the SR-2 during their shore leave wedding on the Citadel.

No matter what was thrown in their path, what problems they faced, or what trouble came their way, they would stay together. They would stay strong and true for the other because that was what their love was all about.

[eva-novakov]

Bio

I’m doing this more of a ‘get to know you’ combined with dossier.

 Name: Eva Novikov  (Her name means “full life”, this is appropriate bc she sure is full of that) 

Age: 29 

Hair: sometimes light brown sometimes sandy blonde 

Eyes: light blue. One would say they literally sparkle when she’s happy. 

Specialization: N7 Fury 

 Orphaned, doesn’t know who her parents are/were. Biotics manifested at a very early age and they were so strong she got attracted the attention of an Alliance biotics program that recruited her so has basically grown up in that organization. Alliance “lifer.” SUPER strong biotics. Like off the charts, so Fury specialization was a logical choice at ICT and she excelled at it very quickly. She fell in love with the fighting style, which supports her personality. She was one of the youngest to graduate. Her weak point is using weapons and will only use them as a last resort, straight biotics are her go-to. 

 She is an expert at hand to hand combat and acrobatics. A fury’s fighting style is basically to warp/charge to an enemy, use the full force of her biotic power for either an unarmed strike, or priming them with sort of a ticking biotics bomb, so she can detonate it after she has flipped away. She can do this at any time of her choosing, and the ‘bombs’ also detonate off of each other,  so she could take out relatively large groups of enemies by herself with staggered , chain reaction explosions. Shields though, are a problem.

Quick run down of ‘how she is’: A strong appreciation for life (meaning she wants to learn and experience everything, not that she’s all hyper and jumpy). She wants to taste everything and close her eyes and experience every sense and every thing she feels at that moment. Outwardly shows no fear. (Speaking of, she’s afraid of heights, and giving her heart away). Called a tornado by those who know her well, (which aren’t many, if any), she flies in and out as she pleases. She never intentionally causes the destruction that sometimes follows. She’s hard and quiet most of the time, especially if she doesn’t know you, a byproduct of growing up having no one but herself to look out for her. She was screwed over one too many times by people to be easily trusting. But inside she is a big pile of sweet mushy goo. If she smiles that smile at you, or gives you that one specific twinkle-laugh, you know you’ve made it past her barriers. She doesn’t give them away easily. She grew up with no roots, so she doesn’t particularly want to put any down. She doesn’t need much, is not about material things. If alone, she sleeps with a stuffed animal that is the only thing she has from wherever she came from, she had it when she was found, but no one can know this upon pain of death because she’s a badass bitch that don’t need no stuffed plushy to cuddle with ok?

Interests: Astrology. Classical music and the ‘arts’.  Goes to any beach whenever she can. Basically wishes she was a mermaid. Obviously physical fitness, that’s kind of a requirement if she wants to live. Besides biotics, she doesn’t really truly excel at anything, but is ‘good’ at a lot of different hobbies/specialties, wanting to dabble in everything (photography, writing, drawing, etc). This reason alone is why she wishes she could live forever.

Likes: I hate this question I mean OBVIOUSLY PPLE LIKE A LOT OF THINGS but I guess right off the top of my head: Sunrises & sunsets (I didn’t know both night AND morning people existed, yet here we are), broccoli (idk man she’s weird, she loves the fact that she’s eating ‘little trees’) She’s a super healthy eater – marie sideeyes her-.  Soft spot for orphans. 

Dislikes: SAME OPINION AS ‘LIKES’. Anyone who takes advantage of someone, that dang tooth of hers, making decisions (she was def not born to be a leader) I’

[swaps55]

#14 kiss prompt for Sam and Kaidan. 😭😍

Also asked by @theoriginalladya

Fictional Kiss Prompts

14. starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion

How had Kaidan forgotten what this feels like? To just…sit, with Shepard’s warm body nestled against him, the mingle of their biotic fields humming under his skin.

Maybe he’s forgotten because he never really learned at all – it’s not like they had much time to create patterns before Alchera.

But they’d had that morning last morning in Vancouver after the inquest. Shepard’s cabin is a lot more temperature controlled than his parent’s balcony, and the godawful turian and human buddy cop movie Shepard’s inflicting upon him sure as hell isn’t anything like a curtain of rain over English Bay. But the way Shepard lays his head on Kaidan’s shoulder, the way Kaidan’s heart rests between each rise and fall of his chest…that’s not the kind of euphoria you should be able to forget.

He exhales, sinking a little further into the couch, running a hand up and down Shepard’s arm to reassure himself it’s real.

No dream, this time. This time when he wakes up, he won’t be alone.

How could he have forgotten this feeling?  

It’s a miracle Shepard is still awake. Even with Arrae safely in the rearview and the rescued scientists passed off to Alliance custody on the Citadel there hasn’t been time to slow down, not after getting word from the quarians that they’re willing to talk. The very mention of Tali’s name had put Shepard in another gear. Some things never change, and Shepard’s refusal to abandon his closest friends when they need him is one of those things.

But that’s the nice thing about transit times. Sometimes no matter how hot you’re willing to burn the candle there’s nothing to burn it for. The Perseus Veil is about as remote as it gets. For Joker it means  bitching for the next two days about all the relay jump calcs he gets to make.

For Shepard it means…this. Stopping. Holding still. Or, as still as he can get. To the naked eye he is still, but the hairs on Kaidan’s arm prickle as Shepard toys with the gravity well, dipping into it, sending out invisible ripples in the same way someone might chew on a pen cap or tap their foot.

The galaxy had never felt so still as it had when Kaidan stopped sensing that constant shift in dark energy.

They’ve said almost nothing since Shepard flipped the movie on. Not because either of them are particularly focused on it, but because after all the talking they’ve done to bridge this gap, the silence says more.

Not to mention, they’re too exhausted to do much else.

They’d expressed halfhearted interest in a more remarkable evening. After all, they’ve lost three years. There’s so much ground to make up, so much to relearn, so much to discover. But in the end, all they wanted to do tonight was…exist. Together.

Which is why Kaidan didn’t object to this shitty movie. Shepard’s penchant for the kind of bad movies that were meant to be riffed is legendary, but Kaidan doesn’t have the energy to give it much effort. Judging by how quiet he is, Shepard doesn’t either.

Shepard’s paying at least a little attention, though, because he snickers when the turian chases a murder across the Citadel Presidium and gets knocked off a bridge into one of the ponds, where the human has to dive in and save him. The sound of it reverberates under Kaidan’s palm where it rests on his chest.

“Come on,” Kaidan says. “Is there a bigger cliché than turians flailing in water?”

“It gets funnier when you imagine it’s Garrus.”

Garrus was always better at the commentary. Kaidan tightens his hold on Shepard just a little.

You are not jealous of Garrus.

“He’s the one who suggested this one, isn’t he?” Kaidan asks.

“I told you back on the SR-1 he had more going for him than good aim.” Shepard cranes his head to give him a knowing grin. “You’re jealous of Garrus right now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Kaidan says, way too quickly for it to be true. Dammit.

Shepard chuckles and nestles deeper against him. Kaidan senses his smile without seeing it.  “You’re cute when you’re possessive.”

Kaidan leans his cheek against Shepard’s head. “Do you remember that night on the ‘Yang you insisted all of us take the night off because you wanted to watch that elcor action flick?”

“Suave Assurance: From Dekuuna with Love?”

“Oh god, that was it. You were enthralled.”

Shepard makes an indignant sound. “That’s because it was fucking glorious.”

Kaidan starts to chuckle, shaking his head at the memory. “With every scene you could see Pendergrass dying a little inside. And then there was that speech the bad guy made at the end, and Aslany got to her feet and quoted it word for word, including all the emotive statements.” His chuckle turns into full blown laughter. “I thought you’d found your soulmate. Shit.” He wipes a tear from his eye.

He expects a smartass reply. Bravado. Indignance. Instead Shepard traps Kaidan’s chin in two fingers and turns his head until their lips meet. It’s soft, slow, with a tenderness that melts Kaidan right into him.

When Shepard starts to pull away Kaidan pushes his tongue past his lips, drinking him in, circling him with both arms and sighing into his mouth. Shepard makes a soft sound in his throat and asks for more, so Kaidan gives it. Kaidan will give him anything, anything, to reclaim minutes, seconds of all they’ve lost.

God, having Sam in his arms is everything. He’d spent three years trying to pretend it wasn’t. Hell, of course he’d forgotten how it felt, he’d tried to forget, and he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t part of him that’s terrified to remember. He’d lost Shepard once. It would be so easy to do again.

He can’t lose him again.

So he does the only thing he can think of, and kisses him deeper. Holds onto him until neither of them can breathe and they rest their foreheads together gasping for air. Shepard trails his knuckles along Kaidan’s cheek.

“So…” Kaidan asks. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what brought that on?”

Shepard hooks an arm around his neck and holds him close. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to hear you laugh. I…used to live for that sound. Even before I understood what it meant.”

Kaidan presses his nose into Shepard’s neck. “Guess we both have a lot of remembering to do.”

On the forgotten screen, a series of explosions, yelling, and not-so-witty banter create a blanket of white noise around them. Between each rise and fall of Sam’s chest, Kaidan’s heart rests.

“Say it,” Shepard murmurs.

“I love you.”  

That, at least, is something they haven’t forgotten.    

~

(thanks to @jediwalkerw for the elcor movie title!)

[ma-sulevin]

Kinktober Days 17: Home Video

James Vega x Avery Ryder, rated E (obviously)

2,185 words, complete.

---

“What if someone hacks into this thing and puts the footage out on the extranet?”

James looks up sharply, concerned, ready to call off this idea if she’s at all uncomfortable, but she’s grinning at him, a playful little spark in her eye that always means a good time for him. He relaxes a bit and shrugs, looking back down at the little camera drone he bought specifically for this. 

“Guess I’d have to owe Liara a favor, then.” A simple answer, deceptively straightforward. Even though the idea of owing the Shadow Broker a favor is particularly horrifying, it would be worth it to keep the whole of the galaxy from seeing what they’re going to do next.

Avery makes a thoughtful little noise that he ignores. “They’ll have seen it already though.”

“Who will?”  The drone’s connected to both of their omnitools now, so either one of them can control it and they’ll both receive the footage, all he has to do now is...

“Everyone. All those fans of yours who’re always watching us when we’re out, wishing they were the ones who get to take you home and fuck you.” She pauses and he looks up at her from under his brows, notes with interest that her cheeks are already red, like she’s working herself up with whatever little story she’s spinning. “They’ll be even more jealous once they know what they’re missing out on.”

He looks up at her fully. “Birdie, now I’m kinda worried you’ll release it on purpose.”

Her smile grows brighter and she shakes her head, but she’s still blushing and her eyes are dark. “Nah. But, it’s kind of hot, isn’t it? People seeing us?”

James chuckles and looks back at his omnitool so he can hit the button that will make the drone whirr to life. It lifts off of the bed between them and spins around, calibrating, then hovers steady off to the side of the bed.

“You mean people we don’t know jerking off to how hot my fiancee is? I usually try not to think about it.”

Avery tilts her head to the side and stares at him as he meets her gaze. There’s something assessing in it, like she’s trying to decide what she wants to do next. She’s never actually suggested something he wasn’t at least willing to try, but the way she’s looking at him…

“It’s not really about that,” she says, shifting onto her knees so she can move closer to him on the mattress. “It’s more about them wanting what they can’t have.”

Behind her, the drone changes colors as it starts filming, and James tries not to stare at it.

“It’s about how you’re the only one who gets to touch me like this.” She moves forward to climb in his lap, and he leans back to give her room to straddle him. She wraps her arms around his neck and starts rocking her hips against his like she’s already wet for him. “Remember when we were at Sam’s and Ashley saw you eating me out?”

He grins, the memories coming back easy even though they were drunk when it happened. “You were embarrassed.”

“Being embarrassed doesn’t stop it from being hot, someone catching us where we’re not supposed to be.” She tilts her head to the side and smiles when he doesn’t answer right away, too distracted by how warm she feels on top of him, how her breasts are pressed against his chest with just the thin material of their shirts between them, how he wants to get his hands on her bare skin. “You’re gonna take this video with you on your missions, you’re gonna watch it while you’re alone in your bunk and can’t get a good vidcall connection, you’re gonna fuck your fist thinking about what I’m about to do to you, and if one of your squadmates sees it by accident, they’re gonna be jealous that you can get this anytime you want, and they can’t.”

James slips his hands up under her shirt as she talks, gets his fingers on her skin and scratches his fingernails down her spine, enough pain to make her eyes darken and her breath hitch. “Nobody’s gonna see this, birdie. I won’t let them.”

“I know,” she says, no teasing in her voice now, even though he’s pretty sure she’d keep talking about this if he was more into it. “I trust you.” She finally leans forward and kisses him, slow and sweet, then she bites his lower lip just hard enough to make a spark roll down his spine. “That’s hot too.”

He rolls them then, puts her on her back on their bed and presses his hips into hers to watch the way her lips part on a gasp even as she lifts her hips to lock her ankles around his back.

Neither of them looks at the drone as it moves to get a better angle of their new position, but the fact that they’re being watched, even if it’s just by the camera… well, she’s right. It is kinda hot.

He sits up on his heels so he can pull his shirt off, and she takes advantage of having his weight off her chest to pull her sleep shirt off too. She stretches back out when she’s done and rests her arms over her head, arching her back up to pull his attention back down to her tits.

Maybe he’s just a simple man, but they’re fucking amazing. 

She gets impatient and tugs him down by his dogtags to get him to kiss her, and he goes where she wants him to because he always does, and then when she squirms under him and pushes at his shoulders… he moves then too, kissing across her throat and down her chest, takes one of her nipples in his mouth to pull at it with his lips and tongue to get her moaning under him again, to get her hips moving up toward him as she looks for friction anywhere she can find it.

He sits up again when he reaches the band of her panties and smiles up at her as he pulls them off. She puts her arms above her head again and lets her thighs open wide to draw him in, but he takes his time, looking down at her pussy, soaking wet and waiting for his tongue.

Dios. He’ll never get tired of this sight.

He pauses, just for a second, just to direct the camera drone out of its automatic mode to pull it in front of him to get a good shot of exactly what he’s seeing.

Avery looks directly at it and spreads her legs wider.

“Fuck, birdie,” he says, and flips the setting back to automatic so he can dive between her thighs.

She’s delicious, like she always is, and he groans into her as he licks over her entrance and then up to her clit. Her hands find the back of his head like he made her forget she’s putting on a show, and she digs her heels into his back to keep him exactly where she is.

He’s hard but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to take the time to do anything about it while she’s grinding against his face like it’s a race to get herself off, doesn’t even care that the camera is whirring overhead, filming all of this for him to take with him on his next mission.

All he cares about is getting her to come on his face so he can keep going. 

She comes once against his tongue and he doesn’t stop, licking up her arousal as it flows from her, pushes her higher and higher as she starts to cry out as loud as she dares these days. It’s a miracle they found each other in the club that night, and as she comes on his tongue a second time, he’s thankful she stopped to pick him up after everything.

What would his life be without her right now?

She releases him as she relaxes, and he takes that for the sign it is: she wants him inside her, and she wants him inside her now. 

He climbs back up her body, kissing as he goes, and then presses a deep and messy kiss to her lips. She kisses him right back, licking her wetness from his mouth, and then pushes against his shoulder to get him to move over.

He does, but he pulls her with them, flipping them over on the bed so she lands straddling his stomach.

She laughs, delighted, and doesn’t waste time before she’s pushing his sweatpants out of the way to get his cock free and in her hands.

She pumps him, just a couple of times, just enough to make sure he’s really ready for her, and then she’s sinking onto him with a long, low moan. Her body is biotic-hot, pulling him in and overwhelming him, and he pushes up into her with his heels braced on the mattress.

“You feel amazing,” he says, running his hands over her thighs and up to her waist, pressing in close at the narrowest part where he can almost get his hands all the way around her. “You fuckin’ love this, don’t you?”

Her grin is feral, and he drags in a deep breath ahead of what he knows is about to happen.

“Yeah,” she says, voice low. “Yeah, I do fuckin’ love it. Let me show you how much.”

He nods and releases her, and she starts to fuck him. She moves like she hasn’t just come twice on his face, like she’s been desperate for it for hours, like he’s been teasing her and winding her up all day and then told her she has to earn it herself.

(He knows how crazy that makes her, because he’s done it before, but she’s never been quite like this.)

He wants to watch her, but it’s impossible to keep his eyes open. Pleasure overwhelms him as she takes what she wants, fucking over him with thrusts so deep it feels like he’ll be inside her forever.

“I’m going to come again,” she informs him, voice completely breathless, and when he looks up at her, he sees she’s staring at him with a blush down her chest and her fingers pinching her nipples. “And then you’re going to fuck me from behind until you come inside me.”

He gapes at her, too overcome to respond, desperately hoping he’ll make it that long.

“Got it?”

Oh, it’s like that.

Well, if it’s a challenge.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, voice low and gravelly like she likes it. “C’mon, then.”

Her smile is wide and beautiful, and then she tips her head back and comes like she was waiting for him to watch her. He can see it rolling over her, can feel it as she clenches around his dick, and it’s almost too much for him.

He grabs her waist to slow her down, but she fights him, so he just lifts her up and turns them around like she told him to, following the orders she gave him and using it as an excuse to keep himself from coming too soon.

She shrieks and then laughs like she scared herself, and when she’s up on all fours on the bed, he grabs a fistful of her hair and lifts her head up as he pushes back inside her.

She clenches around him again, still sensitive, and he can’t hold back anymore. He fucks into her, hard, one hand in her hair and one on her hip to hold her steady. The sound of his hips slamming against her ass fills the room, the only thing louder than the wet sound of him burying himself deep inside her over and over.

When she comes again it’s almost a surprise. She’s silent, the full-body shiver that flows over her and makes her clench around him for the last time the last thing he needs to push him over the edge. 

He slams into her again, and then once more, and then he holds her tight against him as his vision turns white and he groans out his own release, filling her up just like she asked him too.

She falls face-first on the bed when he lets go of her, still shivering, her thighs trembling so bad he doesn’t think she’ll be able to get up for a few more minutes, but he takes the time to tell the drone to quit recording and send the footage to both of them.

When he stretches out next to her, she’s snuggling up into his space before he has time to pull her to him, and he kisses the top of her head as he wraps his arms around her.

“See?” she says, voice hoarse and sleepy. “Was a good idea.”

He laughs and squeezes her tighter. “The drone was my idea, birdie.”

“Mhm,” is her sleepy response, followed immediately by a tiny snore.

She’s already asleep.

Kinktober Master Post.

[inquartata30]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @natsora so you know who to blame

tagging @dr-ladybird @1esk19 and @foofyschmoofer no obligations

Aella was nineteen when she blew up a skyball. It wasn’t on purpose and luckily no one was hurt and the coach just called her dad. She was excited because it meant her biotics were starting their spike to their grown up level and now she could move up to the same league as her sisters. She’d thought her dad would be excited, too. Which, okay, she was, but not all the way. Like she was disappointed and trying not to show it, but her dad had never been good at hiding her feelings. Aunt Cora called it ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve.’ Aella didn’t want her dad to be disappointed in her.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked when they were outside the field complex.

Thaia jumped like her mind had been somewhere else. “No! You did nothing wrong. Well, the ball might have a different opinion, but it’s an inanimate object.” She reached out and slung an arm around Aella’s shoulders and drew her close. 

Aella basked in the comfort and security. Whenever she was with her dad, she felt safe. Like nothing could ever hurt her and it’d been like that for as long as she could remember. But she still wasn’t sure why her dad looked upset, so she asked.

Thaia winced. “I’m not upset, either.” She surveyed the area around them and sighed. “Let’s find someplace out of the way and I’ll try to explain.”

It happened that ‘someplace out of the way’ was one of the places Aella loved—being on a work skiff outside the Nexus, where she could pretend to be flying her own ship. Atapalai Shipyard dwarfed the closest Nexus ward, buzzing with activity no matter the time in the Nexus’s day/night cycle. Countless work skiffs flitted throughout the dry docks, and swarms of workers in EVA gear were barely visible in the skeletons of the two new dreadnoughts currently under construction. Docks 5 and 6 held rows of new fighters, departing one by one and zipping to the Nexus docking ring where their carrier awaited. They had to be fighter pilots and not construction crew because each one pulled a fancier move than the one before it had. Crew didn’t compete like that, but pilots did. Aella had learned that from Aunt Lisana.

Thaia’s grumbling was further confirmation. “Fucking pilots fucking around in the shipyard. Goddess forbid they not show off for five fucking minutes.”

A fighter spiraled toward the nearest carrier, adding a series of flips on the way that were the most breathtaking yet. Aella wondered what it would be like to fly a fighter.

Hanging in Docks 3 and 4 were a dreadnought and a cruiser undergoing repairs—the dreadnought was older, a converted Ark that’d taken a beating during the recent engagement over Kadara. Though scratched and scorched, the name painted on the older ship’s hull was still readable: Leusinia.

Aella remembered a story Drack had told her about her dad, one that’d happened before she was born. The one where her dad, Aunt Cora, Aunt Janae, and Pathfinder Sarissa had blown up kett shuttles using only their biotics. When Drack had told the story, there’d been awe even his voice and it took a lot to impress Drack. “It isn’t often you run across an asari who can blow up ships, so when you do, you’d better hope they’re your friend.”

“My dad! You’re talking about my dad! My dad is your friend!”

“She’s not just a friend. She’s family.”

Then Aella remembered why they were out here. “What’s the problem with my biotics?”

Thaia sighed and made a course adjustment. The skiff headed toward Dock 5. “I’d hoped your biotics would be like literally anyone else’s in the family. Your sisters, the aunts you never knew, your granddad. Just not mine.”

“Why not? Yours are really strong.” How could someone not want strong biotics? Matriarchs were the strongest of them all and one of the reasons why they were so powerful.

“Yeah, but they’re explody. When I was a kid, we found out when I blew up a kikama by accident. I was just a year older than you.”

“I’d like to explode a kikama.” They were, in Aella’s opinion, the worst vegetable in existence.

“While supervised and in a biotic gym, yes. Kikamas are gross and deserve to be exploded.” 

It still didn’t make sense that somehow Aella’s biotics being like her dad’s wasn’t a good thing. “Why don’t you like your how your biotics are? You blew up ships! Well, drop ships but they’re still ships.”

Thaia laughed, short and quiet. “I like them plenty.” Then her laugh faded to nothing and they were right next to the Leusinia, where a hole had been punched through the hull. She muttered something about Deck 12 being a persistent weak spot before she finished replying to Aella. “But I don’t like my biotics when I have to use them as a commando, fighting against other people. On other people.”

It didn’t take much brainpower to figure out why explody biotics used on anything other than inanimate objects would be bad. “Oh. Oh, gross.” Then another question instantly sprang up, partly because Aella was curious and partly because she didn’t want to think about the gross stuff anymore. “How come you didn’t throw up all the time? And I know you didn’t because commandos don’t throw up.”

Thaia laughed and it made Aella feel better. “It’s called detachment. Sorta like separating yourself from what you have to do. Staying detached like that all time would fuck you up, but for short periods of time, like in combat, it keeps you alive.” Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “And it keeps you from throwing up in front of squadmates who’d give you shit for decades if they saw.”

“Okay, so I won’t be a commando. Then my biotics being like yours won’t be a bad thing.” She didn’t want to be a commando, anyway. Not like Zahra did. Aella was pretty sure she wanted to be a pilot, but when she’d mentioned it to Granddad, she’d told her, ‘Might want to keep that to yourself until you’re absolutely sure. You know how commandos are about pilots.’ 

Aella kept it to herself. She was only nineteen, so her mind wasn’t entirely made up.

Thaia sighed, changing the skiff’s course so they were now going toward one of the new dreadnoughts. It was curved in all the places the old one wasn’t, graceful instead of sharp. “I was hoping all of you would avoid it, but I guess you were the unlucky one.”

“It isn’t unlucky to be like you.” Aella glared at her dad to make sure she understood how wrong she was. After Thaia looked at Aella, it took her a second to catch the glare, and then she laughed again. “You sound like...” Just like that, the laughter died.

“Like?” Because the only thing that killed laughter that suddenly and thoroughly was something from before the kett attack on the Nexus. Aella didn’t know enough from before, but it felt like everyone else did and it wasn’t fair.

Thaia barely got the answer out, strangled at the end. “Your mother.”

Aella knew the look on her dad’s face. It was like when she’d seen a sunrise on Aya, everything kind of muddy and dark before light stretched out and touched everything and you’d wanted to smile, too. That was when Aella realized just how much her dad loved—loves—her mother. 

Then the brightness disappeared and everything about Thaia slammed shut. And that was when Aella realized how much her dad missed her mother. It’d been over eighteen years since she’d been exalted and nothing had faded.

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 5: scars

me: tries to write a short

my brain: how bout some sexy time?

notes: set in the same universe as day 1+7. it is half a year after the android revolution. allen’s dating 60 who’s non-binary and is using they/them pronouns, so i tried to avoid gender-specific vocab for 60 here. please let me know if i fucked up.

warning: smut ahead

----

Decimus starts with the small one on the back of Lou’s left hand. ‘This one?’

‘It’s stupid,’ the human says, reclining further into the permanent pillow for his bed has become after the android moved in. He looks down at his significant other using his chest as a pillow and is met with soft, large, puppy dog eyes which seems to be Decimus’ constant except during missions. 

‘Please?’ Des asks with a pout. Before Lou can react, they have already brought the hand to their mouth and given the scar a lick. 

Fucking androids. ‘Fine,’ the human’s voice is filled with fond exasperation. ‘It’s from a bug bite. Scratched it so hard that I broke skin. I used to have a few more, but they faded throughout the years.’

Decimus kisses the raised patch of skin with the reverence as if it is something precious. Smoothing his hand from above Lou’d belly button to his neck, they return to the human’s collarbone where a long scar sits. ‘And this one?’

Lou sighs, his smile turning sad. ‘When Anna and I first moved from Alaska. I nearly got mugged. She saved my life that day.’

The android kisses the pale, smooth piece of flesh. Lou doesn’t stop them as they start nibbling on it. ‘How?’

‘There was...this scaffold,’ Lou’s voice becomes distant. ‘Anna collapsed it on the muggers. Only one survived.’

Decimus frowns. ‘I’m...sorry.’

‘It’s a long time ago,’ the human buries his hand in the android’s hair and plants a kiss there. With his nose buried in synthetic strands, he murmurs, ‘I’ve made peace with it.’

‘That your sister kills so freely?’

‘And more.’

Decimus’ LED spins yellow, and Lou knows that they’re processing the news. He had no one to talk to about Anna until he and Decimus crossed paths, and by the time the android helps him realize how fucked up everything was, he is already numb to most of it.

Des lifts their head only when they’re satisfied with the bruise they have sucked into their boyfriend’s skin. Supporting themself on their arms, they glide their naked body against Lou’s until they can nuzzle the long, thin scar behind the human’s ear along his hairline. ‘And this?’

‘Neural implant,’ Lou holds the android closer and exchanges a chaste kiss. ‘Helps me control my biotics, weak as they are.’

Decimus shifts and kisses Lou’s nose where a thin scar sits. ‘You’re already better than a lot of people. How about this one?’

‘’Cause they don’t even know biotics are a thing, Des.’ As if to demonstrate his point, he shrouds his hand in a blue halo. ‘Compared to you, Connor, Anna, Ryder… I can barely move my phone from one side of a table to another without wrecking anything else. And that’s from Anna accidentally punching me too hard when I taught her how to fight.’

The android hums, not quite agreeing with their boyfriend on his biotics but not exactly disagreeing either. Two fingers trace the twin scars above Lou’s left eyebrow, and before Des asks, the human explains, ‘Car crash. Some idiot rammed their car into the but I was taking. The window shattered and cut me.’

Decimus kisses them and does the same to the two forming an inverted Y under their boyfriend’s eye. ‘And this?’

Lou’s expression visibly darkens. ‘Ryder.’ A deep breath. Knowing that nothing good comes from their creator, Des kisses those scars as well to try to soothe the pain both physical and emotional. ‘She had her skin on so I didn’t know that she was converted into an android. The building was collapsing, she was blocking the only exit, and I really wanted to live to see Anna getting promoted. So I tried to fight her. Needless to say, a fleshy human is no match for an android who has a chassis of metal and biotics. By the time she’s finished with me, she already broke my legs. She could’ve left me to die there.’

‘But she didn’t,’ Des says, their voice distant. ‘She crushed you with a building as if what she had done to you wasn’t enough.’

‘I’m here now.’

They kiss deeply, and Decimus’ hands slide downwards along smooth planes of muscles and stop at the bottom of Lou’s rib cage.

A thick, pink line runs along the bottommost rib. ‘How?’ they ask.

‘Complex fracture of the rib,’ is the reply. ‘Feel this?’ Lou holds Decimus’ hand and guides smooth finders along the bone. The android nods. ‘Most of it is titanium now. A few screws hold it in place.’

Des buries their face in Lou’s abs. ‘Must have hurt.’

The human combs through the android’s hair and cups their jaw, the latter leaning into the firm but gentle touch. Sea-green eyes meet synthetic brown, both pairs equally warm. ‘I was out for most of it,’ Lou explains. ‘The only pain I felt is realizing that I was the only one to have survived the blast,’ he tears his gaze away as his jaw stiffens, ‘and sacrificing part of my humanity in doing so.’

‘Lou -’

‘Don’t worry, it’s been a long time,’ Lou brushes the stray curl of hair which never seems to stick to the coif just to see it flop down again. His hand stays on the back of Decimus’ neck. ‘I may never forgive what Anna did, but it saved my life. I get to live to have met you.’

A sad, sideways smile from the android, their eyes somehow managing to get even more watery. Des moves further down, the sensors in their fingertips allowing them to find out precisely where organic skin ends and gives way to flexible polymer and synthskin, and they press their lips there. A proof of concept that artificial intelligence and organic creations can co-exist. Then they kiss him once more, this time closer to his belly button and the V of his legs. Their tongue darts out to taste the blend of sweat and something not organic that blends into what Decimus associates with Lou. Licking and kissing a trail to the human’s shaft, Des slowly lets information flood their processors until Lou is his entire world. They look up when they’re bare inches from their mark. ‘Is this alright?’

The large hand in their hair grounds them. Dilated pupils, heavy breaths, increased blood and thirium flow throughout his system and heart rate. Decimus knows the answer before Lou opens his mouth.

‘Go on, Des.’ Then in French, ‘But I want to be in you later.’

Des shivers from the promise which they know Lou will deliver. As they kiss and lick his shaft with both hands wrapped around the base, the taste of Lou overwhelming their sensors and processors, their entrance clutches involuntarily and futilely against the onslaught of the first gush of slick, and they can feel the thirium-based lubricant sliding warmly down his thighs and drips onto the bed, onto their own and even Lou’s legs. Closing their lips around the head and tasting Lou’s precome, they can’t help but whine around the cock in their mouth, the emptiness amplified by the low throb of their own organ.

‘Prepare yourself if you want to,’ Lou says, and that is all the permission Decimus needs before reaching down with their left hand and shoves not one but two fingers immediately into the wet heat, stretching tight synthetic muscles to search for the bundle of sensors which serves as an erogenous zone while their mouth sinks down to take more of Lou’s dick, and when the head touches their throat, tears which have been threatening to fall since the beginning from the sheer intensity of their deeds rolls down Des’ cheek just to be wiped away gently by callused fingers. Lips still stretched around Lou’s member, Decimus risks looking up and immediately has to shut their eyes: the trust, the adoration, the love - it is too much.

Their fingers finding the sensors sends them over the edge. Lubricant gushes out from both their entrance and their untouched cock, their entire body quivering and barely able to support themself, and no matter how hard slick, warm walls clutch around their fingers, it is not enough. Faintly, they can hear Lou’s constant reassurance - ‘So good for me, I’m here. I trust you. Take your time.’ - but it isn’t until the man has to tug Decimus’ hair that they notice that they’ve been trying but failing to take Lou down their throat. Their jaw, for the lack of a better term, hurts. ‘Lou, I -’

‘Shh, come here.’

Lou pulls Decimus up and flips them over so that he is lying on top of them, his face hovering mere inches from the androids to force him to look at nothing else but him. When he reaches to wipe away their tears, Des’ skin deactivates wherever their bodies are touching, and the human doesn’t need to look down to know that the skin covering his cybernetics is completely gone. 

They are interfacing.

Although the connection is shallow, it manages to calm Des down just fine, and soon the full-body wrecks are reduced to no more than the occasional sob and tremble, which is normal for the android after every orgasm. All Lou wants to do right now is to bend them in half and fuck them to standby mode, but they had set up a few rules when they started dating, and making sure that both parties are in to go on is one of them. Ignoring his raging erection and peppering Decimus’ tear-soaked face with kisses, he asks, somehow reverting to French, ‘You alright?’

Des wraps their limbs around him tightly. No, they admit through the interface, voice echoing directly in Lou’s head, but I want you in me. Please.

Oh, that he can do. ‘Who am I to deny that?’

Lou leans down to kiss his love deeply and filthily, making sure that his spit is on every single tiny little sensor on the android’s tongue while he spreads their legs even further apart and pushes in. Des’ lips tears away in a wail, and, knowing what the android wants through their connection, he doesn’t wait before nearly pulling out completely and slams back home, setting a brutal pace that coaxes all kinds of sounds and reactions from them, a high-pitched, static-laced whine here, a crackle of blue there lighting up the entire bedroom and reflecting off their exposed chassis. He finds the bundle of sensors within him and rams into it again and again, and the screams of pleasure-pain that tears themselves from Des’ voice box are stronger than any aphrodisiac, encouraging him to go on and to take whatever he needs - Decimus is here to give.

A soft brush of his hand against Des’ cock is enough to wring another orgasm out of the android. Once thought to be impossible, their entrance got slicker, lubricant flowing freely out from both ends, and the tightening of wet, hot muscles around him sends Lou spilling inside them. He collapses in a sweaty mess on top of the android, and Decimus, so utterly wrecked, can’t stop trembling and crying from oversensitivity and their overwhelming emotions, their arms still wrapped tightly around Lou’d broad shoulders like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a piece of driftwood.

They have to stop holding their boyfriend for a while after Lou catches his breath and gets up to get some wet towels from the bathroom. After wiping most of the fluids on their bodies away (the amount of slick never ceases to make Decimus blush), the human also removes the soiled blankets and sheets and pillows from the fort and tosses them into the washing machine, allowing them to sleep on clean linen without doing something drastic such as stripping the bed entirely.

When he emerges still completely nude from the shower, he isn’t surprised that Decimus hasn’t reactivated all their skin yet. He also isn’t surprised that the android winds themself around him like an affectionate octopus, and in this proximity, he finally notices the slight dent in the chassis on Des’ forehead; when he tries to touch it, they bury their face in the crook of Lou’s neck, essentially disallowing the human a second look on what he guesses is a scar.

Both of them are asleep before Lou can think of its implications.

[queen-scribbles]

Sol system, earth, moon, sun, stars, meteor and stardust for your shepherds :) 🌍☀️🌚⭐🌠

Sol System - What is your Shepard’s class, background, military history?

Emily is a Spacer/War Hero Vanguard

Lisa is a Colonist/Ruthless Infiltrator

Quinn is a Colonist/Sole Survivor Adept

Charlie is an Earthborn/Ruthless Soldier

Earth - Where was your Shepard born?

Emily was born on a ship. She came five weeks early, Hannah had technically just started her medical leave bc ~8 months pregnant, but the cruiser hadn’t made it back to Earth yet(she was planning to go home to Sydney (as in Australia) and then whoops). So she had Emily on the cruiser and they transferred to the hospital as soon as they got back.

Lisa and Quinn were both born on Mindoir

Charlie was born in New Orleans, Louisiana. 

Moon - Did your Shepard have any dreams as a child? (dream job, plans for future etc)

Emily always wanted to help people. She wanted to be a doctor, but then the biotics showed up and she was kinda destined for the military or something after that. She has always liked the idea of husband and kids, it just takes a really long time(and a galactic-scale war that almost kills her) to get.

Lisa didn’t really have any. She was pretty undecided up until high school. Always figured it would be something to do with tech; she’s had a talent for and interest in that kind of thing since she was really young.

Quinn wanted to be a pilot, and then his biotics manifested--and very strong from the get-go--and he changed course.

Charlie grew up on the streets and eventually in a gang, his goals were pretty much always just survive til tomorrow “maybe if I’m lucky I’ll make it to 20″ sort of mindset.

Sun - Was there a person in your Shepard’s life that changed their view on life/the world?

For Emily, it was the woman who owned the gym where she picked up boxing when she was about 13. She was really struggling with the whole “lack of friends/connections” thing that comes with being a Navy brat, and her dad died shortly after she picked it up as a hobby, so she had a lot she was bottling up, and Ms Rose gave her some very good advice on both life and her form.

Lisa it’s Gabe. He’s the soldier who found her on Mindoir. (Their relationship plays a pretty big part in the MEBB fic I wrote for her, and I really wanna meta about him at some point, but we’ll still tldr for now) He checked up on her after, gave her a place to stay when the foster system wasn’t working, and was like a brother and best friend and proof the entire galaxy didn’t suck.

 Quinn and Charlie both it’s Anderson. Quinn’s dad worked a lot, so wasn’t really a presence in his life even before the batarian raid, and Charlie’s parents both died when he was about eight, so they even more than my girls latched on to him as a father figure of sorts. Charlie especially needed someone who cared about him enough to kick his ass in line so he didn’t waste his potential.(god he hates that phrase. But it’s TRUE.)

Stars - Who is your Shepard’s LI?

Emily’s is Kaidan, went for it in ME1, stayed faithful through ME2, picked things back up in ME3

Lisa’s is also Kaidan, but they didn’t sleep together in ME1, just put a pin in it for later and then *waves hand at ME2* shit happened. Lisa feels like she owes it to the Alliance to be a good soldier for saving her on Mindoir, doesn’t like to break regs if she doesn’t have to. But that’s less important in ME3 when staring at the literal end of existence, so she and Kaidan finally get to pursue things. 

Quinn’s is Ashley, they bonded over poetry and watching each other’s back

Charlie’s is Jack, and neither was expecting to actually fall in love, but they just turn into each other’s home(something neither’s really ever had before) and it catches them completely off-guard how much they love each other. (the tattoo scene in the Citadel DLC? OH MY GOD. They’re each other’s home and they belong to each other and it’s wonderful and terrifying all at the same time)

Meteor - Does your Shepard have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

Emily twirls her hair when she’s reading or working on reports, or doing anything that involves sitting still.

Lisa loves to sit on the back of chairs with her feet on the seat.

Quinn cracks his knuckles all the damn time and it makes his biotics flare up just a little whenever he does. 

Charlie refuses to sit anywhere he can’t have his back to a wall and eye on at least one door/window/means of escape. He’s also an amazingly good ballroom dancer even if he sucks at all other kinds(him and Jack doing the tango is a mental image I enjoy greatly)

Stardust - What kind of clothes do they usually wear off-duty? (sporty, elegant or specific clothes like sweatpants, jeans etc )

Emily’s very casual and comfy; jeans or leggings and a long tank top, flats or slip on shoes, which comes in handy when she’s recovering after the Reaper War; bc she’s in a wheelchair for a while and it’s easier not having to deal with laces). She adds a hoodie or sweater if she gets chilly, but she’s rarely cold enough to need anything heavier than that.

Lisa is cargo pants, flip flops, and t-shirts until it gets cooler out, then she’s switching to work boots and throwing on a flannel shirt over the t-shirt, adding a jacket over that if it’s straight up COLD.

Quinn likes to wear khakis and a nice t-shirt, maybe with an open button-down over top(very preppy looking; Ash gives him SO MUCH SHIT over it) and then Doc Martens or some other shoe with a nice thick rubber sole.

Charlie will wear anything, but his preference is for jeans and a hoodie with combat boots.